


Apparent Magnitude - Part 1

by vespivore



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Cliffhanger, Enemies to Friends, Fandom Trumps Hate, M/M, Memory Loss, Moondoor (Supernatural), Outer Space, Post-War, Pre-Slash, SPN Dystopia Bang 2018, Soldier Castiel, Soldier Dean, Space Battles, Space Flight, Space Stations, Torture, War, part 1 of 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 21:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15081758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vespivore/pseuds/vespivore
Summary: All Dean wants to worry about is making sure Sam has enough money to pay for school and getting the latest porn feed. Unfortunately for him, the universe and one very frustrating (but gorgeous) escapee have other plans.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to dreamsfromthebunker for being a patient and lovely partner during my first bang experience. Their art is AWESOME- check it out here: [dreamsfromthebunker's art](https://dreamsfromthebunker.tumblr.com/post/175276425375/art-apparent-magnitude)  
> Please give them a ton of love - in addition to making art for my fic, they also co-ran this bang, which is a huge amount of work.
> 
> And my beta, porcupinegirl, made this fic 1000% better than it was. I am so grateful for all the hard work she put into polishing my writing and characterizations.

 

 

The perimeter alarm goes off three hours into Dean’s shift.

Rufus doesn’t look up from his screen. “Don’t bother.”

“Why not?”

“It’s gone off every night this week. And I’ve hauled ass out there every time except for last night and it’s been nothing. Probably a faulty coupler or something.”

Dean checks the border camera displays, but they show the same quiet scene as every night. “You report it to maintenance?”

Rufus scowls up at him. “What you think, boy? I know how to do my job – been doin’ it for longer than you been alive. You still think you’re such hot shit coming back from war, but you’re not the only one to ever see action.”

“Right.” Dean weighs the discomfort of being stuck in the guard tower with Rufus for another hour versus the lengthy walk to the alarm location and decides he’d rather take the hike. “Well, how about I go double-check so that we can add it to the log as a confirmed error.”

With a snort, Rufus turns back to his screen. “Better you than me. Gotta catch up on the latest feed. This one’s got that good tentacle shit.”

Dean rolls his eyes as he grabs his blaster rifle from the rack beside the door and mag-clips it to his uniform. Being paired with Rufus is always a toss-up between long, rambling stories about his pre-Commandment exploits and gross habits like watching pirated porn on duty. Dean prefers being paired up with Henriksen, but that only happens when the schedule changes, which is never often enough for Dean.

The leisurely twenty-minute walk to the perimeter location is filled with repetitive insect noises and the occasional nav lights from passing luxury craft. Not too close, though – the building Dean guards, Auxilium (all the guards call it Aux), is a high-grade military R&D facility and there’s a no-fly zone at least a couple kilometers from the perimeter wall.

Dean likes the quiet here. He’d grown up in the outer systems where it was just him, dad, and Sammy on dad’s smuggling ship, rarely planet-side. So being out here, far away from "civilization," doesn’t bother him as much as it does the other guards.

Besides, it’s just a three-hour hike to the capital city, Arcadia, which is where Sam’s living right now. He got himself into Arcadia Law thanks to his battlefield commission, and despite the intermittent city-wide blackouts and high staff turnover, is just a few months from graduating. Dean didn’t bother trying to get into school when they got back. Not really the place for him. But here he earns just enough to help pay his and Sam’s living expenses, so at least he can be helpful in some way. After Sam graduates, Dean’s not really sure he’ll remain a guard here. Or, really, what he’ll do in general.

On one hand, he’s worked here for five years and it pays better than anything else he’s qualified for. But having to check on this apparent "faulty coupler" is the most action he’s seen in months, so it’s been so much less exciting than he anticipated. Seriously, you’d think the Empire’s biggest R&D facility would get a little more attention from the resistance fighters, especially with all the reports of raids and attacks coming in daily from the nearby capital. Dean sighs as he approaches the spot, expecting the same nothingness the rest of the perimeter has yielded so far.

Instead he finds a hole in the plasma fence just large enough to crawl through.

All the night noises magnify as the familiar battle-ready adrenaline rush starts to hit. He unclips his blaster rifle, then crouches down and inspects the hole – definitely cut with a hypersonic torch, the edges are overly neat. So, something from the facility that’s smart enough to steal a torch and cut a hole in the cutting-edge security fencing has escaped. Despite plenty of speculation, he and the rest of the guards have no idea what the egghead scientists work on in there, so the escapee could be anything. But it’s probably something lethal given the magnitude of their limited resources that have been devoted to keeping it protected.

He taps the radio on the side of his visor. “Rufus.”

“What? You fall in a hole?” comes the patronizing drawl.

“No.” Dean switches his visor to heat vision, but nothing stands out. “Call the team.”

There’s a pause, then, “You’re shitting me.”

“Nope. Something’s out, cut a hole in the fence looks like.” Dean turns off the heat vision and clicks on the light attached to his blaster instead, sweeping it around to get a read on what he’s tracking.

There’s swearing from the other side of the conn for a few seconds before an insistent ‘MRRRR MRRRR MRRRR’ beings to sound at the main building. That will send the asset recovery team into action, but it will still be a couple of minutes before they reach Dean, so he continues scanning the ground for any sign.

“You got any read on it?” Rufus wants to know.

The tracks are faint, but they’re there. “Yeah, got something. Gonna follow.”

“No need. The team’ll be there in 90 seconds, so you can cool your heels.”

Waiting around has never been Dean’s style. He commando crawls through the hole, extra careful to keep away from the edges, and pops back into a crouch as soon as he’s on the other side. “Just gonna get a direction to give the recovery team.”

There’s a skeptical scoff from Rufus. “Just don’t get maimed or die or anything stupid. Who the fuck knows what weird shit got out.”

Dean tunes him out and focuses on the ground, finally finding a trail to follow. Why didn’t the motion-detectors catch this thing? The imprints in the dirt look exactly like humanoid footprints, large enough that it’s probably an adult. The fence hole’s size confirms that, and it would have taken a while to cut through it. So this thing must either move fast or has a way to trick the detectors.

Once he’s got a search image, the footprints remain obvious enough that Dean can jog along beside them. Rufus reports a minute later that the recovery team has reached the perimeter, but Dean doesn’t say anything, just keeps jogging. Spotlights start sweeping past him periodically, and still he jogs. The recovery team is probably ignoring him since they tend to look down their noses at the perimeter guards. But Dean knows he’s on to something and keeps going.

A few seconds later, the dirt and gravel turns to grass and the prints get a little harder to catch, so he’s only getting every third or fourth one, but the path is still there.

And then he sees it: a small pod at the edge of the wooded area to the east of the facility. If he hadn’t been scanning the horizon so carefully, trying to predict the end of the path, he would have missed it. None of the outer lights are on, but Dean can see an open hatch with the interior lights on low. He slows his jog to a fast walk, still scanning. Nothing’s moving around or inside the craft, but the footprints clearly lead toward it, so he knows the asset must be nearby.

He’s a few meters away, silent as can be, when something bolts out of left field and knocks him over. The thing’s going faster than any person Dean’s ever fought, and he’s barely got his breath back before it’s on him again. This motherfucker is fast. Dean tries to grab for his weapon but it’s ripped out of his hands, mag-clip and all, and his face suddenly pressed down into the grass by a forceful hand. This thing is strong, way stronger than Dean – he tries bucking it off his back and pulling his arm free, but its grip is steel and there’s absolutely no give.

Dean only has a moment to consider what something with such strength is going to do to him when he picks up on a low hum in the distance that’s growing steadily louder. It’s the recovery team. The thing that hit him shifts its weight suddenly, like it’s turned toward the approaching ships. And then as quickly as he’d been bowled over, the pressure on his back is gone and the speed demon has completely vanished.

Dean lifts his head in time to see a humanoid form entering the pod and the engines beginning to power up.

“Oh, fuck no.”

He scrambles up, wasting precious seconds glancing between his weapon lying several meters in the opposite direction and the closing pod hatch door. Swearing under his breath, he takes off toward the pod at an outright sprint. The recovery team isn’t going to get there in time – Dean recognizes the model of pod the fugitive is powering up and knows it’s an expensive and speedy variety, built for interstellar travel. It’ll easily outfly the recovery team’s crafts since they can only handle inter-atmosphere maneuvers. It’s up to him, then.

“What the fuck you doin’, kid?! What’s happening?”

Dean pushes hard, ground flying underneath his feet, sprinting at the closing hatch.

“Not gonna let it get away!” he shouts.

“What? Don’t be an asshole – wait for the recovery team!”

With a final last-ditch leap, he slides in under the closing hatch just as the pod lifts from the ground. Any slower and he would have been crushed beneath the heavy metal. Rufus’ squawking in his ear abruptly cuts out. This pod must have dampeners, which is definitely bad news for Dean trying to get a message out to anyone through his visor.

Dean groans at the bruises he’s sure are already forming on his hip from his photo-finish. And of course, when he looks up toward the asset, he gets the barrel of a blaster in his face.

Shit.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Who are you?” demands a voice from behind the blaster.

Dean looks past the barrel and finds a pair of angry blue eyes glaring at him.

“Uh,” he stalls.

“Why are you on this ship?” the voice asks, gravelly and grumpy.

Dean quickly takes in the rest of the person holding the weapon. Besides the (admittedly) smoldering eyes, he’s got short dark hair and a well-structured face. His body is covered completely in black, but Dean can still see he’s well-built. He’s not a bad-looking guy, and if Dean were at an underground bar, he might try to pull him on sight alone.

_ Damn _ , his brain (un)helpfully supplies. Too bad this isn’t a different situation.

The barrel presses into his forehead and Dean decides he’d better stop staring and start talking. “I’m Dean.”

“And? What are you doing on this ship?”

“I was, uh, chasing you down apparently.”

The asset’s eyes narrow as he glances over Dean’s uniform. “You’re security.”

“Yeah. And you’re an escapee.”

The asset huffs disbelievingly. Before he can say anything more, a noise sounds from the console behind the asset and he glances back, giving Dean an opening. He knocks the blaster away from his head and starts to get his feet underneath himself to surge forward for a tackle. But he’s barely gotten anywhere before the asset responds with superhuman speed, slamming him back down onto the floor plates and ramming the blaster back into his face, at his jaw this time, cutting his lip.

Dean wheezes, breath completely knocked out of him. How the fuck had he moved so fast? 

“Don’t do that again,” the asset informs him. “You cannot overpower me.”

“Yeah, getting that idea.”

The asset cocks his head and assesses Dean. “That was a military maneuver.”

“And you still smacked me down like a bug. What are you, man?”

“Nothing that concerns you.”

The engines whine beneath him as the pod starts to build up speed to escape the atmosphere. Dean knows they are quickly getting out of range of the retrieval team, so if he’s going to do anything to disable the pod or stop the asset, it needs to be soon. But after getting smacked around for the second time by this guy, Dean doubts he’ll be able to overpower him. Clearly the Aux scientists have been feeding this dude extra rations and then some.

So, talking’s the next best strategy. “Ok, then. Why are we leaving?”

The asset doesn’t say anything, just stays where he is, though Dean can tell he’s doing some quick thinking. It occurs to Dean that he’s probably deciding whether or not Dean’s going to be a liability, and that he might just decide to squeeze the trigger and get rid of his unwanted passenger.

Undeterred, Dean continues with his usual strategy for dealing with bad situations – running his mouth. “Not too big on planning, I see. Ok, well like I said, I’m Dean. And I was the one who found the little hole you made in the fence, which wow, good work, by the way. Not easy to cut through that carbon-tube enhanced titanium. But I suppose that super-strength you’ve got working for you probably helped some.”

The asset stops thinking ( _ good _ ! screams Dean’s survival instinct) and refocuses on Dean. “What?”

“I said, your super-strength is pretty impressive. You got any other special powers?”

“Are you attempting to determine my capabilities? As the party with the superior position, it would hardly benefit me to reveal any advantages I have over you,” the asset tells him in a confused voice.

The pod jerks a little as it escapes the atmosphere and Dean’s concerns about now being out of range for the recovery team is usurped by delight for the giddy moment of near-weightlessness right before the pod’s internal gravity kicks in. His stomach resettles and he has to wipe the automatic happy grin off his face at the feeling of being in space again.

But he apparently doesn’t do it fast enough, because the asset demands, “Why are you smiling?”

Figuring he has nothing to lose with this revelation, Dean shrugs. “Just glad to be off-planet for a change.”

“You attempted to disarm me with a military move and are familiar with the sensation of interplanetary travel, not something that a typical civilian guard would have experienced.” The asset tilts his head to one side, considering. “Ergo, you are a soldier who served in the war.”

“Retired,” shoots back Dean.

“Why didn’t you go with all the other retired soldiers to Purg? I was under the impression that most had no interest in living under the new rules.”

“You mean the 'no porn, no alcohol, no fun' commandments Michael declared? Yeah, can’t say many of us were happy to come back to that plot twist, me included.”

“And yet you work near the Empire’s capital city at a facility directly overseen by Michael. Why?”

Dean pauses for a moment, wondering why the asset is so curious. But there can’t be any harm telling him about Sammy, can there? He keeps the information vague just in case. “My brother. He was also a soldier in the war, an officer, though. He’s in school right now, and I snagged a job at Aux to help cover his tuition. Not like there are a lot of jobs to choose from right now. It was that or rebuilding Bombardment damage, and that’s just asking to lose an arm.”

“You’re close with your brother?”

“Well, part of the reason I stayed close to Arcadia was to keep an eye on him. Not that he needs it, though – he’s pretty busy all the time with school. Plus, it would have been hard to find such a high-paying job on any of the colony planets since my non-military skill set is a bit lacking.”

The asset doesn’t loosen his grip on the blaster, but stops pressing it so hard into Dean’s skull. “Do you work security at any other of Michael’s facilities?”

“No, just Aux.”

This seems to disappoint the asset, who looks away and purses his lips. 

Maybe that was the wrong answer. If Dean doesn’t know about anything beyond the R&D facility maybe the asset will think he’s dispensable. 

“But I do know a lot about Michael’s movements.”

This catches the asset’s attention. “You do?”

“Yeah, it gets boring in the guard house so sometimes I use the chatter and screen history to map out everyone’s locations. For being an egghead who won the war with strategy and then set up an unpopular dictatorship, Michael’s lousy at keeping his tracks covered.”

The blaster comes away from Dean’s forehead completely.

“You don’t like Michael?”

Dean shrugs as he pushes himself up to sitting. “He was a decent leader during the war, but since the Final Bombardment and the surrender, he’s been kind of a dick. His commandments have pretty much banned everything that makes life worth living. Thank fuck for pirated porn and bootleg alcohol.”

This doesn’t seem to impress the asset very much. “Do you find those items to be necessary for your survival?”

“No, but what’s the point of winning the war if you don’t get to come home and enjoy still being alive?”

The asset’s huffs a laugh through his nose, which Dean interprets as agreement. He smirks, but it pulls at his cut lip and he brings a hand up to check the split. 

The asset frowns. “I apologize for injuring you. Your intentions were unclear and I had to subdue you appropriately.”

“Well, my intentions are still to take you back, so don’t go getting any ideas just because we’ve chatted a bit,” Dean shoots back, then realizes that all the good will he’s built up with talking might have just been destroyed because he decided to run his mouth.

But surprisingly the asset just half-smiles. “I think you will find your task a difficult one to accomplish.”

“Oh?”

“This craft is pre-programmed and I do not know how to disable the autopilot. I would not choose to do so anyway. I escaped for a reason, and this craft is bringing me to someone who will assist me.”

“Who’s that?” asks Dean.

“I will not reveal that information to you.”

“Ok, well my job is to contain all assets from Aux, so you can see how this kind of creates a problem.”

“There is no way you can overpower me –  at the facility I was genetically enhanced with a number of abilities, but special attention was given to increasing my speed and strength far beyond other humans. Including yourself," the asset informs him confidently.

“What?”

“I also possess other abilities, but strength and speed are the ones the scientists were most interested in developing in me.”

Well, Dean can’t argue with that fact. He’s already been made to look like a weak-ass pushover twice, and both times he’d been beaten by capabilities beyond those of any normal human. “So that’s what’s going on in Aux? Human enhancement?”

The asset sits back from his crouch into a cross-legged position, the blaster in his lap. “That is the least of what is occurring there. But I will speak no more of it until I have rendezvoused with my contact.”

“And how long is that going to take?”

“Approximately thirty hours.”

Hmm, long enough for the asset to need to sleep and possibly let down his guard. Dean will wait until then, steal his weapon, and disable him with a shot to the leg or shoulder. Nothing fatal but definitely something that would knock his superhuman strength and speed down a notch (and hurt like a bitch), and then he’ll reprogram the autopilot to bring them back to Zion. So, Dean will just have to wait him out. Not something he hasn’t done before – he’d gone three days without sleep all the time when he’d run smuggling routes with his dad. 

As if reading Dean’s mind, the asset says, “I do not require sleep, so any plans to escape or overpower me during sleep are useless.”

Dean blinks. “You read minds, too?”

“No, but it was the most obvious strategy you’d decide upon. I can, however, do this,” he says and leans forward with his hand raised, moving too quickly for Dean to stop him. 

But he only places the pads of his pointer and middle fingers over the split in Dean’s lip. A weird tingling sensation washes over Dean and a second later when the asset removes his hand, the pain is completely gone. 

Dean checks and finds his lip whole again. “Uh, thanks.”

“I will not go back to the facility. You cannot stop me from escaping,” the asset says, making intense eye-contact.

Figuring he has nothing to lose at this point, Dean asks, “Ok, then what are you going to do with me?”

The asset frowns. “I did not anticipate a passenger. I believed my escape would be ignored – as of yesterday the guards had stopped checking after I tripped the perimeter alarm.”

Dean scoffed. “Yeah, and if you had tried to escape last night, I wouldn’t have been on duty and Rufus would have just ignored it again. Bad luck.”

“Indeed.”

“So, back to your plans for me.”

The asset scrutinizes him again for a long moment, until Dean starts to feel like his very bones are being weighed. Then, he finally speaks. “I believe I will allow my contact to determine your fate. I do not wish to pass the journey to him with a dead body, nor do I wish to severely injury you.”

Dean breathes out a sigh of relief. 

“But,” the asset continues. “Neither can I have you attempting to overpower me, escape, or send a distress signal. So, I believe incapacitation is the most reasonable way forward.”

“Wait, what?”

But before Dean move, the asset swiftly lifts the blaster, flicks one of the controls along the side, and fires. 

Dean is out cold before his head hits the floor plating.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

“Wake up.”

“Oh, I’m awake,” Dean assures both of the half-naked dancers in front of him. “And so good to go. Come’re.”

“Wake up, Dean.” The woman sounds impatient now. And suddenly quite masculine. Dean glances between her and the guy who was grinding on his lap just a minute ago in confusion. Her voice is nothing like the flirty deep-throated purr she’d been teasing him with since she and her partner had first agreed to this personal dance. 

Dean frowns. “Uhhh, what–”

She abruptly grabs his shoulder and shakes, and Dean starts back into consciousness to find the asset’s intense eyes centimeters away from his.

“Dude! Personal space much?” he sputters as he flinches away and covertly moves a hand to his lap to do a status check to make sure just how ‘ready to go’ he is isn’t obvious. 

Fortunately, everything’s under control.  _ Thank fuck. _

The asset rolls his eyes as he leans back and gestures at the viewscreen behind himself. “We’re at the rendezvous point.”

Rubbing his eyes with his palm, Dean starts sitting up, only to remember why he’s on the floor in the first place. “Wait a sec – you shot me!”

With the least remorseful look Dean’s ever seen, the asset shrugs. “It was efficient.”

“Efficient, my ass. What if you’d got the setting wrong? I could be dead and you’d be stuck with that body you were so worried about,” complains Dean as he gets to his feet. He pats his head and finds his visor gone. Great.

“The trip passed in a matter of seconds for you, so I don’t understand why you’re complaining.”

Dean does a quick check around for the visor but it’s nowhere in sight. “Consent, man. I didn’t say it was ok for you to knock me out!”

The asset looks uncertain for a moment. “You would have rather stayed conscious knowing there was nothing you could do to escape or to force me to return to the facility?”

“I would have rather had a choice! And how did you keep me unconscious for so long? Did you shoot me again?”

“No, I used a sedative from the medkit.” The asset nods toward a case attached to the bulkhead.

Dean rolls his eyes and throws his hands up. But movement beyond the viewscreen catches his eye. “Looks like your ride is here and that’s quite the–” Dean steps forward for a better look and blinks a couple of times. “Wait a minute, I know that ship. That’s one of the Casa Erotica cruise fleet. What’s it doing out here?”

The asset ignores him and settles into the pilot seat. He taps on a display and the familiar chimes of a communication channel being opened sound. “This is Stick-in-the-Mud. Do you receive me?”

Dean makes a disbelieving noise. “Your contact is on an intergalactic pleasure cruise?”

The asset just glares at him. A moment passes and then a velvety voice says, “This is Sweet Tooth. How long does it take to eat Nuulian taffy?”

“Five minutes so long as you don’t get distracted by a pair of…” The asset grimaces and mutters, “Knockers.”

There’s another momentary pause, then, “Excellent, all appears to be in order. We’ll tractor you in now and he’ll meet you at the bay.”

The asset glances at Dean. “Be advised that I have an additional passenger.”

Another pause. “Do you require a security squad to take care of it?”

Dean lifts his eyebrows at the implications of ‘take care of it’. The asset scrutinizes him for a moment, then responds, “No, I don’t believe that will be necessary.”

“Understood. Prepare for tractoring.”

The con goes dead again and Dean swallows. “Thanks.”

“What for? As I said before, I can easily dispatch you, and right now it’s in your best interest to follow my lead.”

Dean grunts in acknowledgment. The asset’s right. There’s really not much he can do at the moment to change his situation. But there’s always a chance that a change of scenery will bring an opportunity to disable the asset so he can return to Aux with him. A cruise ship is a crowded and chaotic place, after all. 

He wonders as the tractor beam engulfs their pod, what’s happening at Aux right now. Did they assume him lost and dead? Have they told Sam as much? He hopes not – the kid hardly needs more to stress about besides school right now.

The tractor beam pulls them into the docking bay and it’s nothing like the bays Dean was dumped into as a soldier. It’s bright and clean for one thing, and there aren’t partially-destroyed hulls of still-steaming and sparking ships shoved out of the way so that troops can safely land and be redeployed quickly. Nope, this one is painted a slightly-obnoxious blue and there’s a lot of extra decoration and adornment that’s definitely not Dean’s style. 

The asset picks up the blaster and considers it as they settle onto the docking bay deck.

“You won’t need that,” Dean tells him. “I have zero chance at escaping right now. And like you said before, I can’t beat you in a fair fight, so I’m not going to start throwing any punches.”

“It’s the unfair fights I’m concerned with,” says the asset, walking past him to square off to the hatch. “Also, I’m not entirely certain as to the identity of my contact, though I have my suspicions, so I think being armed is wise.”

“You aren’t?” asks Dean in surprise. “Then how’d you get all set up with this?”

The asset tucks the blaster against his side so that it’s available but not immediately visible. “It was pre-arranged. I will not reveal my collaborators at the facility to you, however. They would be in danger if you ever revealed them to your superiors or to Michael.”

They wait another moment in silence before the hatch door finally opens. Once it’s all the way down, the asset steps aside and gestures for Dean to precede him. Dean steps out onto the bay deck and looks around, expecting someone to be there to greet them, but it’s just them and their pod and the awful decorations.

Just as the asset joins him, the bay door opens and the most garishly-dressed person Dean’s ever had the misfortune to look at steps through. Seriously, this guy could give some of the performers in the underground bars a run for their money.

The glitter hair is hardly the worst offence, but it’s close. And he’s got stripes of electric-pink and blue paint on his face and ridiculously-flowy robes that probably cost more than the pod behind them, and none of it hides the fact that he’s incredibly short. Dean doesn’t know whether he should bow or laugh. 

“Castiel! It’s been too long!” he greets exuberantly. And then adds, as he does a once over of Dean. “And an unexpected but quite dashing tag-along. How was the trip?”

“Uneventful,” deadpans the asset. “I should have known I would be meeting you. The code names and phrases were incredibly absurd.”

And then the name that the strangely-dressed person in front of him just used hits Dean’s brain and he drops his jaw in disbelief. “Did you just call him Castiel?”

The guy smirks, and Dean takes that as an affirmation. He turns to look at the asset. “You’re Castiel?”

The asset, Castiel apparently, regards him warily. “Yes.”

Dean is momentarily speechless.

Then Castiel squints at him and Dean’s brain kicks back into gear. 

“ Commander Castiel Novak, the leader of The Garrison, the most elite fighting unit in the whole damn war. The unit that made it into Infernos and took down freaking Azazel. The unit that basically ended the war with the Final Bombardment. You’re that Castiel? ”

Now Castiel looks decidedly uncomfortable. “Yes, those are all things I was involved in.”

Dean continues gaping. 

The strangely-dressed man steps in in the silence and claps a hand on Castiel’s back. “And here I was just calling you Cassie.”

“I do not like that name and you know it.”

“Aw, don’t be such a bore. Aren’t you going to introduce me to your star-struck friend?”

Castiel frowns. “I didn’t think that would be wise – he was one of the guards at Michael’s facility and he’s already told me he intends to take me back were he capable of such a thing.”

“He doesn’t seem too interested in that now, look at him.” 

Dean manages to shut his mouth, but can’t stop staring at Castiel. This guy is a  _ legend _ . The Garrison is legend, too. Mostly because no one has seen or heard from them since the war ended. Suspicion starts to bleed into Dean’s thoughts, and he narrows his eyes.

“I’m not sure what’s going on here,” Dean says slowly. “But there’s not exactly any proof you’re who you say you are. As far as I know, you’re an escaped asset from the Aux, and maybe even a prisoner of war who’s lying to keep me from hauling their ass back.”

“I have little proof of my identity beyond my contact’s word,” admits Castiel (or whoever he really is), nodding toward the gaudily-dressed man, who laughs loudly at Dean.

“What?” demands Dean.

“Oh, nothing. Just cute how you think that you have any shot of ‘hauling his ass back’ without having to contend with my ship’s armaments.”

“Armaments? You’re a pleasure cruise.”

The short man starts laughing again. “And? You think I’m stupid enough to skirt Michael’s borders without being able to defend myself?”

“Gabriel, I don’t think it’s wise to give away tactical information to a potential enemy.”

“You mean, like my name?” asks Gabriel, raising one eyebrow.

Castiel looks taken aback, like he cannot believe he just made such a mistake. “I apologize. I must be tired from the escape and journey here.”

“I thought you said you didn’t need to sleep,” Dean pipes up, unable to help himself.

“Sleep is different from rest.”

“Sure,” says Dean, unconvinced.

“It is,” insists Castiel. “And besides, I have nothing more to say to you. You should be grateful I decided not to kill you.”

“Right, thanks for that,” snarks Dean. 

Gabriel looks back and forth between them with a peculiar expression on his face. “So, anyway, you know our names and we don’t know yours.”

“Dean,” says Castiel before Dean can open his mouth.

“Uh huh, and does Dean-o have a last name or any hobbies? What about his type? Talk, dark, and grumpy or maybe short, flirty, and owner of a multi-system fleet of pleasure cruise ships that consistently produces content that makes the top ten on all the pirated porn feeds?”

Castiel opens his mouth to respond, but it’s Dean who does the interjecting this time. “The name’s Dean Winchester and as you already know, I’m a guard at the Auxilium R&D Facility on Zion. I don’t have a type, but I definitely wouldn’t say no to either of those options.”

“Oooo, good. I like when they aren’t too picky.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “We do not have time for this. Michael will no doubt be on his way with a fleet of fully-equipped warships to disable you and take me back. I doubt many of your customers will be pleased to find themselves in the firing line of such a force.”

“Relax, Cassie. Michael doesn’t control the outlying sectors, and so long as I don’t enter into Zion Empire territory, he can’t shut me down. Sure, operating on the fringes cuts down on business, but if the people want to  _ come _ , they’ll  _ come _ ,” Gabriel says suggestively, waggling his eyebrows.

“Gabriel,” Castiel says in a warning tone.

Gabriel just shrugs. “And if he does decide to go beyond the borders, then like I said, I’ve got defenses. Plus, I’ve got the best spitfire captaining this love boat, so the chances that Michael will get to you are practically nothing.”

“You cannot defend against one of his fleets. He has been working on new weapons and has finally succeeded in creating–” Castiel cuts himself off and glances over at Dean.

“Creating what? And what do you mean, working on new weapons?” asks Dean. “The armistice strictly prohibited the production of any new weaponry.”

“Ah, and therein lies the entire point of this daring plan to free dear Cassie.”

Dean frowns when Gabriel doesn’t elaborate. “Which is?”

“I do not think Dean should be privy to any of our discussions,” Castiel cuts in.

Gabriel seems to weigh his options. “He does mostly seem like a pretty face.”

“Hey,” protests Dean.

“He cannot be trusted. We should put him in the brig,” says Castiel.

“The brig? That’s where I put the gropers and stalkers. You sure we should subject him to that crowd?”

“He’s one of Michael’s soldiers and he’s already told us he intends to return me to the facility. Considering that he would be dead were it not for my mercy, I’d say he should be grateful to be only imprisoned.”

“Wait just a minute,” protests Dean. “There must be locked rooms on this thing with no gropers or stalkers inside. Couldn't you just lock me up in a cabin with a pleasure bot?”

“No,” Castiel tells him resolutely.

Gabriel just shrugs. “Sorry, not sorry? Guards!” he calls over his shoulder at the doorway.

Dean groans as Gabriel's security 'escorts' him to the brig. It's bad enough that he's even further away from returning the asset to Aux, but now he doesn't even get to explore the cruise ship.  An entire vessel full of the most advanced pleasure tech and most skilled desire bots, and Dean’s going to be stuck in jail. 

Son of a bitch.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

“Son of a bitch!”

Dean kicks the bunk with the back of his heel for the umpteenth time and runs a hand through his hair in frustration. He’s been here for four days. FOUR DAYS. And has anyone come to apologize for treating him like luggage? Nope.

In fact, the only other company he’s had for the entirety of that time has been the relatively steady trickle in and out of unruly drunkards and schmucks complaining to the guards about being falsely accused for whatever gross thing they did to get sent to the brig. Oh, and that blonde with the low-cut black dress and sparkly necklace. She’d winked at Dean on the way to her cell, cool as could be and completely unfazed by being slightly manhandled by the guards. Dean must have been asleep when she’d left because the next morning her cell was empty again. Too bad – he wouldn’t have minded a flirty tête-à-tête. It’s not like there’s anything else happening in here.

He picks at the weird outfit Gabriel gave him, trying to find a lose thread to pull. The fabric is comfortable enough, sort of like sleepwear, but the fluorescent pattern is just garish and annoying. Give him a military uniform any day. Why he couldn’t keep his other clothes, he’ll never know. None of the other ‘guests’ had had to change. Gabriel probably made him change just to screw with him.

He feels another wave of panic building and kicks at the bunk again to give it an outlet. It’s been a while since he’s been stuck in a space this small against his will. He’d never admit it, but it was probably a good thing that Castiel knocked him out during the trip here – no telling if he’d have freaked out or not. He hasn’t been trapped like this since…Dean takes a few deep breaths and tries not to focus on memories that aren’t going to help him right now.

Sensing this is going to be yet another day of imprisonment, Dean flops onto the bunk and pulls the screen pad from the wall partition where it’s housed. Maybe some distraction will help with the anxiety. 

The screen was the first thing Dean noticed after being shoved into his cell. At first it had seemed like a strange amenity in a brig. After some thought, he’d eventually concluded that Gabriel's paying customers might be pretty pissed off if they were treated like actual prisoners. Better to entertain them while they sobered up or cooled off.

He’d tried sending a message right off, but of course the screen wasn’t set up to allow for any kind of outgoing communication. If that was true for all of them or just Dean’s, he couldn’t tell. Today, Dean skips past the gambling programs and pulls up a news feed for Zion, knowing there’ll be nothing there about Sam but still needing confirmation that nothing bad has happened to him. If Michael really wanted to, he could have Sam arrested for Dean’s failure to capture the asse-Castiel. Dean wonders if he’s considered a deserter or traitor at this point. If he is, the only way to fix it is to bring Castiel back. Too bad the chances of that happening are currently so low.

Three days ago, he’d used the screen to investigate Castiel. There wasn’t much to find. Unsurprising, since after the Final Bombardment all mission logs and service records were classified, and all news feeds were completely disabled, including archived stories. He knew more about Castiel’s war efforts from drinking stories and hearsay than what the net could give him. The only photo he’d been able to find after some digging was blurry and it sort of resembled the asset. So, maybe he really is actually the famed Castiel. 

Of course, Dean can’t ignore the possibility that Gabriel could have altered the data file to back up his story, or even that Castiel might have done it now that he’s roaming free on the ship. In fact, Gabriel’s probably getting a report on everything Dean looks up, so he would have had time to fabricate that photo. Dean regrets not having learned better hacking skills, but there were always people better at that sort of thing around so it hadn’t seemed a necessity.

He closes out the window on Zion and instead looks up Gabriel again. Unlike Castiel, there are plenty of photos and bios, most of which link directly to porn feeds that aren’t blocked and redirected to a government site like they are on Zion. And all of the photos of Gabriel feature the shrimp of a dude who’d greeted him and Castiel in the bay, smirking and looking smug and superior. Dean doesn’t doubt Gabriel’s identity. 

With a sigh, Dean drops the pad onto his stomach and glares up at the ceiling in frustration. 

He’s still staring up at the ceiling when breakfast arrives. A slot at the back of his cell slides open and then quickly shut after a tray is passed through to the small shelf there to catch it. Dean ignores the food until his hunger out-competes the knots he’s been stuck with since the first moment he was pushed into this stupidly-confining space. Today it’s some kind of fruit concoction that Sam would love and a fancy pastry. Not his usual fare, but it’s not like he can complain. 

Food eaten, Dean goes through a general exercise regimen he’s used since soldier training. His mind won’t shut off, though, and while he does push-ups he’s back to thinking over the conversation Castiel and Gabriel had begun about Michael. 

He’d never actually met Michael in person. He was interviewed for the position at Aux by the administrator, some paunchy man who’d never seen battle and would have lasted two seconds if he had. Zachariah, maybe. Anyway, Michael had never been to any of the frontlines, and as far as Dean knew, hadn’t really joined the actual battle until the Final Bombardment, mostly using his celebrated tactical mind to coordinate a multi-sector war.

But despite Michael’s strategic acumen, Lucifer had somehow broken through and gotten all the way to Zion. The few survivors of the Final Bombardment told of relentless death raining down, of a standoff in the middle ground, and then Lucifer surrendering, his troops immediately following suit. The armistice had been set mere days later and the slow rebuilding of Arcadia had begun. And then Michael had retained control of the Empire, assuring everyone that the transfer of power back to the government would happen once all had been returned to normal. The commandments had come shortly after that announcement, and most of the soldiers had retired to Purg. No one knows what happened to Lucifer, though most believed Michael had him locked up somewhere.

Dean finishes his last set of crunches and falls back onto the floor. He allows himself to briefly entertain the thought that Michael could be breaking the treaty in secret, that he really is headed this way with a fleet of advanced warships. And then he snorts. Castiel is probably just an escaped prisoner of war, or maybe an imposter, or maybe he really is the Castiel from all the stories, but has clearly jumped off the deep end, so Michael was keeping him in Aux for his own safety and the peace of all the Empire’s citizens. After all, what’s more likely – that Michael, the leader of the good side and reason for the end of the war’s high death toll, is involved in some kind of illegal arms building, or that Castiel is a liar and opportunist? Sure, things aren’t exactly peaches and cream under Michael’s rule, but it’s better than what Lucifer would have done to the Empire. 

Castiel’s superpowers are weird, though, and as Dean stretches, he can’t really think up an explanation for them besides that maybe Castiel is a part of some kind of experimental trial to fix his messed-up brain and it’s left him confused about his identity and the reason why he was at the facility. 

But of course, a teeny niggle of doubt (or maybe boredom) keeps Dean running through things again. Better to do that than dwell on being trapped and have to punch the walls again until his racing heart calms. Actually, maybe he’ll spend the rest of the morning cursing Rufus for being such a lazy asshole. Clearly, it’s all his fault that Dean’s stuck in this fake-plush hell hole.

\--

Mid-day, Castiel strides through the brig’s main doors and stops in front of Dean’s cell.

“You will follow me now.”

“And why would I do that? Oh, and nice to see you, too. Thanks for remembering I’m here.”

“I can easily stun you again and drag your unconscious body through the ship instead. You may recall that I am significantly faster and stronger than you.”

“Fair enough. I guess following you gets me out of this stupid cell, so I’ll play.” Dean tries to keep the giddy leap of joy at the prospect of being free of this small space down, but he doesn’t think he comes across as sarcastic as he wants.

Castiel deactivates the force shield and Dean eyes him. “Where are we going?”

“Gabriel’s quarters.”

They take a lift to the uppermost deck of the ship, to what Dean assumes is the penthouse. Gabriel greets them at the door with a grim expression.

“Michael is coming,” guesses Castiel, and Gabriel nods as he moves aside to allow them into the room. 

Dean is overwhelmed by the size and opulence of the room. Definitely the penthouse. There’s more stupid color clashing and way more couches than anyone could reasonably need. Never mind the plethora of knickknacks littering every single surface that doesn’t feature food.  Seriously, who needs all this junk? On second glance, though, some of those knickknacks actually look like they may be… 

Dean blinks and turns back to Gabriel and Castiel, doing his best to ignore the hubris of leaving sex toys scattered out where everyone could see.

“Yep, so he is. And with an entire upgraded battle squad, too. Turns out Cassie here wasn’t lying about the new weapons.”

Cas looks annoyed. “And your contacts?”

“Still a sector over. Michael will get here first, though, and with the firepower he’s packing, no way does this go smoothly unless we hand you over. Which I’m not going to do, obviously. Captain Purity Squad can threaten all he wants but I’m–”

“Then I will leave.”

Dean stops trying to covertly check out the sex toys and looks over at Castiel. “What?” he asks.

“My presence puts everyone on board in danger. I will not risk more lives to keep myself safe from Michael.”

“But–” starts Gabriel.

Castiel cuts him off. “I am grateful for your hospitality and the opportunity to meet with your sources to spread my intelligence, but it is time for me to leave. Michael will not care as much about you or this vessel if I am no longer on it.”

The door chimes and a short, capable-looking woman comes in without prompting.

“Ah, Kali, my sweet,” Gabriel greets. “What’s the status of the approaching fleet?”

“We have less than thirty minutes until they arrive.” She glances over toward Castiel and Dean. “What have you decided?”

“Yes, what have you decided?” Gabriel asks, but instead of looking at Castiel, he looks straight at Dean. 

Dean frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Are you going to help?”

“Help? Seriously?”

“That’s the general idea, bucko. Why else would we bring you here?”

“Look, you just treated me like a prisoner for the last three days. And I’m supposed to be taking him back to Michael, not helping him run in the opposite direction.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes we all have to do things we don’t want to,” Gabriel says, impatiently. “And it’s time for you to stop acting like a mindlessly-obedient soldier and start thinking for yourself for a change.”

Dean balls his fists. “Keep talking like you know the first thing about me.”

Gabriel opens his mouth to say something no doubt as snarky as his facial expression, but Kali takes another step forward and says, “Gentlemen, time is of the essence.”

Dean almost laughs at how quickly Gabriel de-bristles. Of course, he’d never admit it, but he also feels slightly chastened. Kali’s got presence.

“The dogs are at our door, Dean-o. You gonna help or give up?”

“My job–”

“I didn’t ask what your job was, I asked if you were going to help.”

“And why should I?” Dean demands, annoyed.

“I don’t know, maybe because the future of the entire galaxy is at stake? That sound like high enough stakes for you?”

“It sounds like exaggeration and a tagline to one of your pornos.”

Gabriel rolls his eyes. “Well, it’s not. And what are your options right now anyway? Stay here as my prisoner, then probably get handed off to Michael and become his prisoner for letting Castiel here escape? Die if Michael is feeling particularly upset with me for harboring one of his pet projects? Or how about giving Cassie a fighting chance at protecting you and the rest of the idiots in this galaxy from total annihilation at the will of an autocrat who won’t let you enjoy the finer side of life?”

Everything goes quiet and still as all eyes fall on Dean. 

“I don’t trust any of you. I don’t trust that Michael is actually on his way. I don’t have any proof of anything. Besides, why can’t he escape on his own?” asks Dean, pointing at Castiel.

“I am a poor pilot, and Michael will have sent out an information alert about me around the colonies and to all the checkpoints. My chances of traveling undetected and eluding capture are infinitely better if I have an ally. Also, I do not currently have anywhere safe to hide and gather support now that Michael has discovered Gabriel’s involvement.”

Castiel must pick up on the fact that Dean remains unconvinced, because he impatiently adds, “What would it take for me to prove my story to you?”

Dean shrugs. “Evidence. And I’d need to be able to authenticate it with my own people.”

“Done. You take me to your people, and I will help you obtain the information to prove that Michael is rearming and dangerous. If they can find no evidence, I will allow you to take me back to Zion. Now, will you help me?”

Dean grits his teeth. There’s every chance that if Michael is really coming, Castiel is probably going to be captured and/or killed in the next hour. Why should he risk his neck for someone he hardly knows, someone who clearly wouldn’t do the same for him and is probably lying about what’s going on?

And yet…

He’s a damn good pilot. Running his dad’s smuggling lines made him quick at evasion and defense, and he knows how to avoid the checkpoints and mask all traces of his flight path. And Gabriel’s right, if Michael is really coming, Dean will have to convince him that he was an unwilling prisoner who failed in his mission. At least this way he could take Castiel somewhere where he has the upper hand, somewhere he could use his resources to take Castiel down and then return him to Michael without having to go through the song and dance of validating his story or any evidence he might produce. 

Decided, Dean nods. “Fine, I’ll take you to my contacts. But I’m not telling you who or where - that information stays with me. I’m not going to put my people at any more risk for you than I have to.”

Gabriel claps his hands together cheerily. “Good. Kali will show you to the bay and give you some gear and food for the trip. I need to get to the bridge to figure out how to draw Michael off from you or at least stall him.”

They exit Gabriel’s quarters and Kali starts leading them away, but Gabriel grabs Dean’s arm and holds him back.

“You keep him safe.” Gabriel’s fierce eyes drill into Dean. “You protect him no matter what.”

Dean presses his lips together. “And what’re you going to do about it if I don’t?” 

Gabriel tightens his hold until it’s painful, then releases his arm. “I mean it.”

“Fine, I will,” he promises just to get away, then jogs to catch up to Castiel and Kali, the troubled scowl on Gabriel’s face following him all the way to the docking bay.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

“Even though you have agreed to the plan, I still don’t trust you,” says Castiel as they clear the docking bay doors.

“Feeling’s mutual. Glad we’re on the same page.”

Castiel stays quiet while Dean directs them away from Gabriel’s ship, then as soon as Dean has set their course asks, “How long will it take to reach your people?”

“Using sublight engines? About two weeks. We’ll have to add lots of detours to avoid checkpoints and any patrols.”

“Why sublight?”

“They’re harder to track.”

Castiel squints at the viewscreen, as if he can make out the route ahead of them. “How can you be certain that Michael can't access this location?”

“It’s a smuggler’s base. Only smugglers know the way in, and there’s not much chance any of them would get involved with Michael.”

“You did.”

Dean looks over sharply. “I joined up for reasons that’re none of your business. But once a smuggler, always a smuggler.”

“Hmm.” Castiel sounds skeptical. Dean ignores him.

\--

Dean spends most of the first day taking them through a nebula. It’s equal parts calming and terrifying – the gas hides them but also conceals any potential hazards, like debris or asteroids. The familiar adrenaline high keeps Dean buoyant despite the circumstances. He’d forgotten how much fun it was to fly.

Castiel stays quiet, and mostly just looks out the viewscreen. Dean doesn’t feel inclined to talk to him – he agreed to keep him safe, not keep him company or make him comfortable.

After all, Dean’s planning on bringing him back to Zion no matter what. Gabriel failed to consider a third option when he was trying to scaremonger Dean into helping – even if Castiel does manage to get some evidence, Dean’s going to take him back to Aux and let him fend for himself with that proof. This isn’t Dean’s war to fight. He’s not risking Sam’s future.

\--

They leave the nebula early the next morning, and Dean sets the autopilot so he can sleep for a few hours. Castiel just nods when Dean tells him this and doesn’t seem inclined to catch sleep himself, so Dean just heads to the back compartment where there’s a small table and a bed.

The longer Castiel stays quiet, the more Dean wonders what’s going on in his head. Rufus’ conversational topics might have been mostly-offensive, but at least they were more entertaining than uncomfortable silence. What does someone who was supposedly a scientist’s guinea pig for half a decade think about? Can’t be anything Dean wants to delve into, so he continues to maintain their mutual silence.

\--

Dean wasn’t exaggerating when he said it would take them two weeks to get to their final destination. He’ll have to spend a lot of time doubling back on some of their route and dropping decoy trails when they get too close to inhabited systems. Plus, some stretches of space have new hazards since he flew them, so he makes use of the star charts Gabriel has available on the ship’s screens to determine the best route. 

The lack of engaging activities has Dean’s brain threatening to go off the rails by day three. As much as Dean likes to kick back every now and then and do nothing, it’s not usually with unfamiliar company in a confined space. So, he comes up with a routine. 

Morning is for as complete a workout as he can manage in the confined space of the back compartment, a shower, and breakfast, then a check on the autopilot and verifying that the eternally stiff and mute Castiel is still where he left him (he always is) and doesn’t want anything to eat (he always says no). Then Dean passes time until lunch by double-checking the star charts or coming up with the day’s flight plan, then staring out the viewscreen and inventing increasingly-elaborate strategies for capturing Castiel and neutralizing his superpowers. The afternoon is for listening to chatter on official and unofficial channels (he always hopes there will be something about Zion, but things seem quiet for now, so maybe that’s for the best), followed by more staring out the viewscreen until dinner. After that it’s more staring, a periodic sweep through the ship for any tracking devices or software (he doesn’t trust Gabriel one bit), and then setting the autopilot so he can sleep for a few hours and do it all over again.

The luxuries offered by Gabriel’s borrowed shuttle do help a little. The bed in the back compartment is decent – better than the one in his quarters at Aux, but definitely not as comfortable as the one he grew up sleeping on. It’s been a while since he’s had decent food, and even though the rations Gabriel provided are pre-prepared, they are still much tastier and in larger portions than he got at Aux. Plus, the seasonings are divine – the military isn’t too keen on making sure the food tastes good, just that it keeps their soldiers moving. The first time Dean tries the spiced retolia he almost cries.

On the occasion Dean accidentally makes two meal portions out of habit and Castiel inevitably declines, he ends up eating both himself. Best not to let them go to waste, right? The only exception to Castiel’s no food rule is capulus juice. He drinks the stuff like it’s water, and if Dean makes some and offers, he always says yes. 

And so that becomes their only interaction – Dean offering capulus and Castiel accepting. It’s weird and awkward and Dean has no idea how he’s going to handle another eleven days of it. 

\--

Day four and the thrusters complain as Dean forces them through an opportune comet’s tail for a third time.

“Fucking Gabriel, giving us a ship with more form than function.”

“You are quite proficient at flying despite the limitations of this vessel.”

Dean looks over in surprise. It’s true, he just wasn’t expecting Castiel to say anything so... nice. Or at all. “You don’t know anything about flying.”

“No, but someone who knows little about art can still appreciate a painting.”

That gives Dean pause. “Did you–”

“There were many instances when my unit had to take risky routes or use less than sturdy vessels to reach our destinations,” interrupts Castiel. “You are at least as skilled as those pilots and handle this vessel with ease despite its shortcomings.”

Dean snorts. “You think this is something, you should’ve seen me fly my dad’s ship back when it was still space-worthy. Baby had an engine that purred like a Tarlesian syphznx and she looked just as sweet.”

“Is that how you learned to fly? With your father’s vessel?”

“Mostly. Sometimes I played around with junkers that Bobby had in the salvage yard. But yeah, I spent most of my piloting time in the cockpit of my dad’s ship.”

A natural silence falls as Dean loops back around to pass through the tail one more time, further scattering their ship’s trail, before he aims them back toward their destination. Even though Gabriel’s ship is unwieldy, the deflector shields are top notch, and the comet tail debris doesn’t make a sound as it hits the shields.

“You, uh, ever have a chance to fly?”

Castiel shakes his head. “No, I was tasked with incursion strategy and training new recruits since the fatality rates were so high given the missions we were assigned. I was the best soldier in my unit, so it was the logical choice.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Brag a little, why don’t ya.”

“My instruction resulted in a reduction in the fatality rate of 58%.”

“Oh.”

Silence falls again, less natural this time. Dean shifts in his seat, feeling uncertain about continuing this conversation. 

Castiel takes the decision out of his hands. “If Michael finds us now, he will likely kill you for assisting me, regardless of the fact that you had little choice.”

“Yeah, sounds about right. If Michael is actually after us.”

“Are you not concerned? For yourself or your brother?” Castiel tilts his head.

The mention of Sammy pokes something deep down. “Yeah, I am,” he answers gruffly, suddenly feeling completely disinterested in talking anymore, despite how nice it had felt only moments ago for their silence to be broken.

“Do you think Michael has already apprehended your brother?”

Dean sets his jaw. “Maybe.”

“I see I have made you uncomfortable with this line of questioning.”

“No, just trying to focus on not getting caught so we don’t have to find out the answers to those questions just yet,” answers Dean, and pretends to be too busy with adjusting their course to continue talking. Castiel seems to get the hint and settles back into his chair to resume his silent contemplation of the stars. 

\--

On the evening of day six, they skirt close enough to a smuggling outpost to listen in on some chatter. Dean is mostly tuning it out until something catches his attention.

“-and there were about sixty or seventy escape pods.”

“Not the full compliment on one of those ships, is it? Any ID on the attacker’s ships?”

“Jones swears they weren’t anything he’d ever seen before, advanced tech for sure and no insignia on the hull. And the weapons systems on them, shit, I don’t know. Anything that can destroy a luxury cruise ship in just a few volleys is new to me.”

Dean and Castiel lock eyes.

“Well, Jones also said that the attacking ships took all the escape pods up, so who knows if those people are prisoners or trafficking fodder now. Isaac and Tamara swear they saw those ships high-tailing it back to Zion, but no one can confirm that that was their final destination.”

“Lotta strange things happening around lately. Just yesterday I saw a junker from near the Gate that I swore had been destroyed at least six years ago. Say, any of you heard from Wandell lately? He owes me another unit and I haven’t been able to contact him.”

“No, I’ll be by the Falls in a couple of days. I can ask around there.”

The chatter continues in that direction and Dean turns the volume down.

“You don’t think…”

Castiel looks grim. “Michael.”

Dean looks back out the viewscreen. “Maybe it’s another cruise ship. And some other ships with advanced weapons.”

“Perhaps. But not likely.”

Castiel looks really distressed, so Dean tries to lighten the mood. “I’m sure Gabriel’s fine. Dude’s probably putting more glitter in his hair as we speak.”

Castiel just nods, but the concern written all over his face remains.

\--

 

Dean tells himself it's because he needs more sleep, and he can get more without the autopilot. Or that he's just bored and needs more human interaction. It's not because hearing about the destroyed cruise ship has him rattled, and  _ definitely _ not because of the permanent frown now etched on Castiel's face.

Either way, the next morning he looks over at Castiel and asks, "Do you want to learn how to fly?"

Castiel blinks at him. “What?”

“Do you want me to teach you how to fly this ship? Might be useful if I'm incapacitated or the autopilot fails when I’m asleep. We can’t all be like you and need only ‘rest’.”

“Oh. Then, yes, I would like to learn.”

Dean and Castiel swap seats and Dean spends the next two hours explaining the displays, demonstrating how to use the yolk to adjust pitch and yaw, how to interpret the various readouts, and how to adjust the flight path to accommodate various interstellar phenomena. 

Castiel catches on quickly. He flies for a while without any input from Dean, a slight smile on his face the entire time. Dean sits back and enjoys the calm, empty space in front of them, momentarily forgetting they’re on the run. In fact, he kinda likes the way Castiel is taking to this whole situation. Reminds him of how Sammy used to be when Dean got to teach him something new.

The silence between them is much less tense the rest of the day. Dean marvels at how well Castiel flies the ship, diligently checking readouts and even trying one of Dean’s tricks under his guidance. He feels a little proud, really, of being able to teach Cas this. 

Apparently Castiel is also pleased with the events of the day, because when they trade places later in the afternoon, he says softly, “Thank you for showing me how to pilot this vessel. It was enjoyable to do something because I wanted to for a change.”

Dean nods and says, “Of course.” Because he isn’t really sure what else to say to something like that. 

\--

Dean’s handing Castiel his morning dose of capulus when Castiel reaches down near his feet and pulls out a blaster.

“What the hell?” Dean nearly shouts, jerking the hand holding the cup back and spilling the hot juice on his shirt. “Where the fuck did that come from?”

Castiel frowns. “Kali gave it to me.”

“Why?” Dean sets the cup down on the console and pulls his soaked shirt away from his chest. 

“In case you decided to attempt to incapacitate me at any point.”

Dean stops messing with his shirt and gives Castiel an incredulous look. “You did tell her that you’re superhuman, right?”

“Yes, but she was concerned that you might attempt to trick and incapacitate me when we reach our destination.”

A burst of guilt rushes through Dean. Because, yeah, that's kind of his plan. 

“Uh, why are you showing it to me now?” he asks.

“I’m giving it to you.” Castiel extends the blaster toward him.

Dean’s mouth works for a moment. “Why? Don’t you want it?”

“Oh, I have another one.” Castiel reaches down and picks up a second, identical blaster. “You should have one, though. In case.”

“In case, huh.” Dean takes the blaster from Castiel and gives it a once-over. It’s a basic model, with settings from stun to kill. “Ok.”

Castiel looks up at him with a slight smile, like he’s pleased Dean accepted his the blaster. “It’s sufficient?”

“Well, between not having a blaster and having one, I’d say it’s good. Uh, I’m...um, I’m gonna go clean this up,” Dean says gesturing toward his shirt, then heading for the back compartment, blaster in hand.

He sets it on the shelf above the bed and tries not to think about it too much until he’s lying down for sleep later that day. For one moment, Dean considers using it on Castiel. It would be easy to knock him out, redirect the flight path back to Zion. He could dump Castiel off at Aux, grab Sam and run. He doesn’t want to be a part of a war again. And he especially doesn’t want Sam to be a part of a war again.

But he only entertains that idea for a moment. The fact that Castiel gave it to Dean means he’s trusting him, has faith in him not to do exactly that. And Dean supposes, at the very least, he should let Castiel have a shot at showing him the evidence he claims to have. It’s only fair, right?

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Dean almost jumps out of his skin when Castiel asks out of the blue, “Why did you choose not to become a pilot in the war?”

It’s been a quiet day, no phenomena to navigate, no patrol ships to avoid, just seemingly endless blackness in front of them for hours. Dean had almost started to doze off, but Castiel’s question wakes him right back up. 

“Uh..,” he stalls for a moment, trying to think. “Uh, because I wouldn’t have had much control over my future.”

“You weren’t able to control your future as a soldier either.”

“Yeah, guess it wasn’t just my future I was concerned with.”

Castiel squints at him. “You would have been separated from your brother had you become a pilot.”

Dean nods. “And then that idiot got promoted and sent to a different unit, so that plan got shot to shit.”

“He didn’t pilot your father’s vessel?”

“Sometimes. But I was usually the one Dad trusted to evade whoever he’d pissed off that week. Sam was a decent shot once he got old enough to man the rail guns, so Dad usually had him on the weapons.”

“You were a criminal, then?”

“I prefer to think of it as using alternative means to get by. But I didn’t want to live that way forever, so I joined the armada as soon as I was old enough. Thought if I could earn a commission, I could take my brother away from that life,take care of him. But the dumbass followed me into the army. He’s a lot smarter than I am, though, so he got a commission of his own.”

“You did not want him to see battle?”

Dean looks at him incredulously. “You know how high the fatality rate in that war was. There wasn’t a war when I joined, then a year and a half later everything went to shit.”

Castiel gives him a considering look for a moment, like he’s not sure if he wants to say what’s in his head. Finally, he turns back to gaze out of the viewscreen and says slowly, “I had a brother once, too.”

“Had?” Dean asks hesitantly.

“He was in my unit. During the Final Bombardment, Azazel’s squad had us pinned down and there was no way to escape. I was going to sacrifice myself to get everyone out, but he was able to move faster than me.”

Castiel sounds like he’s reciting the facts of a mission report, calm and steady. Dean frowns at his apparent indifference - if he’d lost Sam like that, there’s no way he could talk about it with such apathy, even several years later.  “What was his name?”

“Balthazar.” 

Is it Dean’s imagination, or did Castiel’s voice became a little less gravelly there? Maybe he’s not as unaffected as he’s coming off.

“I’m sorry. Sounds like you were close,” Dean offers.

“We were. But sacrifice is an inevitable part of war, so although I mourn his death, I also accept that it was necessary for the success of the mission,” Castiel says in the same tone as before.

So, maybe he really is as unaffected as he sounds. Dean runs a hand along his jaw. “That’s a pretty cold way of looking at things.”

“I have learned that some people think so. But that does not change the fact that his death saved many lives that day, as would have mine had I been quicker.”

Dean shakes his head and decides to take the conversation in a different direction. “Your parents had strange ideas about names.”

Castiel glares, but it seems half-hearted. “They are traditional Enochian names.”

“Maybe so, but they’re still weird. You ever use a nickname? I mean, one you like. Even I could tell you hated what Gabriel called you.”

Castiel is quiet for a while, his face frozen in what looks like uneasiness from his profile. Dean thinks they’re done talking, but then Castiel says quietly, “I’m not sure.”

“What’s that mean?”

“The experimentation, the gene manipulations that Michael’s scientists performed on me that gave me my enhanced abilities? They’ve erased some of my memories. I’m not sure what I’m missing anymore.”

“Oh.” Dean sits with that information for a moment, trying to decide what to say next, then settles on, “That’s awful.”

Castiel looks over at him, brow furrowed. “It is, yes. Sometimes I have no difficulty remembering, like with Gabriel. But other times, I can sense there’s something missing, something that I should know, something I am supposed to remember, but can’t.” Cas looks down at his lap, then back up at Dean, distressed. “I know that the memories are gone and it’s useless to dwell upon their absence, but I remain troubled nonetheless.”

Dean huffs a disbelieving laugh. “Of course you should feel upset. They’ve stolen part of who you are.”

“Yes, that is true,” says Castiel. “But I still don’t know if I have a nickname. I should know something like that.”

“Well, how about I give you one?” Dean replies, trying to be helpful.

Castiel opens his mouth in what seems like surprise.

“Or not,” adds Dean after Castiel keeps gaping at him.

“No, I would…like that.” 

“Ok, then how about, uh, Cas?”

Castiel considers it for a moment, then nods. “Yes, I like that. Please call me Cas now.”

Dean reaches over to tentatively pat him on the shoulder. “Sounds good, Cas.”

\--

They nearly get made by a pair of patrol ships the morning of the ninth day after making a necessary stop at an outpost for fuel, and Dean’s starting to feel on edge, trapped in this ship with someone he’s supposed to be bringing back to Michael and definitely shouldn’t be feeling like he wants to get to know better. Cas’ comment several days ago about the possibility of Sam being captured by Michael starts to work on his brain in a way that’s kicking his anxiety up to an eleven out of ten anytime he has a moment to think, which is constantly.

Plus, he’s starting to feel like the vessel’s bulkheads are creeping closer each day, the space he’s occupying shrinking. 

He gets up out of the seat and paces back into the back compartment, startling Cas.

“Are you alright?” Cas asks after him.

“Fine,” Dean answers, not caring that it comes out short and irritated-sounding.

He slides shut the door to the bathroom behind him with more force than necessary, bracing himself on the sink and trying to take long breaths. Putting himself in an even smaller space than the one that’s making him feel so anxious is probably a bad idea, but he doesn’t want Cas to witness this.

He starts counting down from 100 and is in the thirties when there’s a soft knock against the door.

“Dean?”

Dean closes his eyes tight and grits his teeth.

“Dean, do you want me to take over navigation?”

“Yeah,” he spits out.

There’s a long pause, and then, “Ok.”

Dean waits a few moments for any further questions, and when there’s nothing but quiet, breathes out a long exhalation and lifts his head to look in the mirror. His skin is pale and he looks like he’s moments away from passing out. He slumps down onto the floor beside the sink and hangs his head between his bent knees.

“You’re fine,” he whispers to himself. “You’re not there anymore. You’re not there and he’s dead.”

Dean clenches his fists and hits his calf muscles with force just short of bruising. “I’m gonna get Cas to the base, I’m gonna see my family again, they’re gonna get the intel Cas needs, and then I can take him back and make sure Sam’s ok. Which he is. Sam is fine.”

He breathes there for a few minutes. “It’s fine. We’re only four days out. It’s gonna be fine.”

Eventually, his pulse rate slows and his thoughts quiet. Dean pulls himself up and splashes some water on his face, feeling a bit less tense. 

Cas shoots him a questioning look when he returns to the front, but Dean just falls into the co-pilot seat and checks their course. 

\--

Dean keeps expecting Cas to mention his freak out. He spends the rest of the day waiting for the inevitable questions, the dismissive snort when Cas finds out how fucked in the head Dean is.

But it never comes. And Cas doesn’t walk on eggshells or act any different around him. He’s just his usual stoic self, switching out with Dean when it’s time for sleep, grabbing him capulus the next morning, asking about the best way to navigate around the nearest trading station. 

Cas’ steadiness calms Dean and he eventually stops looking for any indication that Cas thinks him weak or strange. 

\--

Cas picks up the heavy crate of food rations and Dean goggles for a moment instead of grabbing the utensil that he knocked behind it. 

“That’s gotta weigh a ton.”

Cas frowns. “It feels significantly heavier now than it did when I placed it here as we were escaping. Have you added more items to it?”

Dean shakes his head as he reaches down to get the utensil. “I don’t think so. Maybe you’re just getting out of shape from sitting around all day staring out the viewscreen.”

Cas hums thoughtfully. “I have noticed a decline in my energy reserves over the last seventy-two hours.”

“Maybe you should add something besides capulus to your diet? Let me make you some of the stiliont noodles tonight. I swear they’re the best I’ve ever had.”

“Yes, thank you,” says Cas, setting the crate down.  

\--

Dean runs his hands along his thighs as he leans forward to watch the rings of the reddish planet they're sling-shotting fly overhead. 

“This planet is quite similar to Inferos.”

“Oh?”

Cas takes his eyes off the rings and focuses his intense gaze on Dean. “Yes, it is also encircled by two layers of rings and possesses similar geomorphology, though with slightly increased volcanic activity.”

“Sounds like a prime vacation spot.”

“I would not advise vacationing there,” says Cas with a frown, looking back upwards. “It was most unpleasant.”

Dean rolls his eyes. He’s noticed Cas does that a lot – misinterpreting joking for serious conversation – and actually finds he weirdly kinda likes it.

“Your unit was the only one to ever set foot on that planet during the war. Must’ve been a hell of a mission.”

“The Perdian Dominion homeworld is a harsh place, made more so by Lucifer’s single-minded obsession with bringing destruction to the galaxy regardless of the cost to his planet or people. Although the toxic atmosphere and heavily-scarred landscape were difficult to navigate, he pays little mind to protecting his own people, so infiltration was not a challenge. Most of them ignored us even though we weren’t able to perfectly conceal the fact we were Empire soldiers.”

“Hmm. I always thought Lucifer had a pretty efficient war machine.”

“Efficient, perhaps. But far smaller than Michael’s and mostly run by intimidation and fear.”

“Well, post-war Michael’s not been all that nice, either. He’s kinda been a dick, really. All those commandments, not doing much about rebuilding Arcadia’s Final Bombardment damage, refusing to let manufacturing start up again, not to mention how everyone but the upper crust is left walking everywhere. It’s like the entire planet’s taken a giant step backward two hundred years. The resistance isn’t wrong to be pissed at him. And then there’s whatever he’s doing in Aux, whatever he’s done to you.”

Cas doesn’t look uncomfortable with Dean bringing up whatever he’s suffered at the facility, and just keeps intently looking at the rings. Dean thinks he’s going to let it go, but then he starts speaking slowly, as if remembering.

“Shortly after the surrender was accepted, Michael had myself and the rest of the Garrison sent to the R&D facility for debriefing. The scientists told us that we’d been exposed to radiation during our mission on Infernos and we were to be treated for it. But the ‘treatments’ lasted for several weeks, and when we began to question our treatment plan, the scientists started keeping us more and more isolated. Before long it was obvious that something else was going on, but by then we were all extremely ill and could not escape.”

“He started the genetic enhancement that early?” 

“Yes. Almost all of my unit are dead - only myself, Anna, Inias, and Hester remain. The experiments have been successful on us, though, which is why we are alive. I am uncertain what Michael intends to do with this information, but from what we’ve been able to determine, we believe he is trying to produce a new army of super soldiers for a second war.”

Dean runs both hands over his face. “That, that doesn’t make sense - a second war would be a disaster for the Empire. All the soldiers are in Purg and I doubt many of them would want to fight again after retiring.”

“Which is precisely why creating a new army of genetically-enhanced soldiers is ideal. Fewer troops will be needed to achieve the same result. And you’ve said that Michael has not been acting rationally lately. Therefore, it is within the realm of possibility that he could have no reason for restarting the war beyond remaining in power.”

“ Where the hell would he get the resources and money to support a new war? We can’t even rebuild Arcadia’s Final Bombardment damage, how are we going to fund a war?”

“ Given what you’ve told me about the totalitarian regime Michael has set up, it's clear that he controls the flow of information. It's not surprising that he would conceal the true extent of his resources. It would be easy to do without the existence of a free press.”

“But, but…” Dean sputters, trying to understand. “Why would he start a war?  Besides, I know things are shitty right now, but Michael's always claimed he'll return power to the government once everything's cleaned up and stable again.”

“And you believe him, despite it being five years later and very little has been done to rectify the damage? I told Gabriel it would be difficult to convince people of this reality. It is far easier to hold to a comforting lie.”

Dean stops looking at the rings and squints at Cas in disbelief. “And where exactly does Gabriel come into all of this? I didn’t exactly have a chance to ask before I was being manipulated into helping you escape.”

“He and Michael are brothers.”

“What?”

“He chose to remain neutral in the first war because he did not want to be beholden to Michael to fight. But by helping me escape he has chosen to move against Michael. Now I fear that Gabriel has given his life in aid of me.”

Dean hates useless platitudes, so he just says, “Gabe seemed to think protecting you was the most important thing, so if he is dead, it was for a cause he believed in.”

Cas just nods once in acknowledgment and they lapse into silence after that. Dean has no idea if that was the right thing to say or not. He sort of wishes it was.

\--

Dean lays in bed that night, turning over everything that’s happened in the last eleven days in his head. He’s not surprised to realize he’s starting to believe Cas’ story. His gut says to trust him, regardless of the fact that he’s yet to see Cas’ evidence. And as Dean’s learned over the years, his gut is rarely wrong. 

Now the only thing he has to decide is whether or not he’s going to help Cas beyond getting him to safety.

\--

They are only a day out from Dean’s hideout when Cas falls asleep at the table in the back part of the vessel. Dean’s noticed he’s been dragging a little, but chalked it up to malnutrition, plus listlessness and boredom from being stuck in a ship with just Dean for company for almost two weeks. But Dean’s been trying to feed him at every opportunity and that hasn’t seemed to do anything. Now, it appears that Cas is fatigued to the point of actually sleeping. 

“Someone’s sleepy, huh?” Dean teases to cover for his worry. “Guess even your superhuman sleeplessness has its limits.”

Cas frowns at him. “No, I have not needed REM sleep since the scientists first started modifying my genetics.”

Dean’s eyes widen. “You’ve been awake for almost five years?”

“With the exception of brief rests, yes,” Cas responds crankily.

Dean can feel the blood draining from his face. It must have felt like unending torture, to be stuck at the facility with no sleep to give him a break from the poking and prodding. It’s the stuff of every one of his worst nightmares.

“I thought you were kidding about the ‘no sleep, only rest’ thing. Like, you could go a couple of weeks without, but would still need a full-night’s rest to keep going.”

Cas rubs his eyes. “No, that is not the case.”

“How about you try sleeping in a bed? You might be more comfortable that way.”

“I don’t need sleep. I have been genetically engineered not to require sleep,” Cas reminds him petulantly.

“Ok, ok,” placates Dean, like he used to when Sam refused to go down for a nap. “How about you just lie down, then. You’re probably sick of sitting all the time.”

He guides Cas to the bed, tucks him in, and within moments Cas’s asleep again. That’s probably not a good thing, Dean thinks, and he resolves to keep a better eye on him.  He tries to remind himself that it's probably just boredom, that after years of scientists and tests Cas can't deal with the lack of stimulation. But now he's not so sure.

He takes one last look at Cas as he sleeps, and gently pats his arm before returning to the front of the ship. It’ll be a quiet shift without Cas asking his various piloting questions or their brief but intense conversations, but Dean’s passed plenty of nights alone with the stars, so he’s not worried about that.

No, his worries are currently preoccupied with the grump conked out in the back, hair a mess, drooling slightly on his pillow.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

Cas seems very impressed by Moondoor’s secret entrance. If you don’t know how to navigate it, you’re bound to be smashed against the walls, but fortunately Dean has had plenty of practice. He eases the unwieldy shuttle though the maze and to the base from muscle-memory alone.

“It’s a stupid name, since it’s literally a moon with a hidden door to the inside, but I guess it makes sense,” explains Dean. “I always thought it was pretty cool as a kid.”

“Who taught you this route?”

“My dad. This was where he spent a lot of down time – he was friends with the proprietress of the port, Ellen Harvelle, and she would let him stay for free most times. Her daughter and I would play together, too.” Dean leaves out the part where sometimes John would forget about them and fly off to do a job, leaving him and Sam to find food and shelter in less-honest ways when Ellen’s place was full up and he was too proud to ask if he could stay. John constantly told him that Winchesters didn’t ask for help. Only now that Dean’s older does he realize what a load of bullshit that is.

They dock Gabriel’s ship at one of the far spots, and Dean can already see the port guards jogging down the corridor toward them. 

Fortunately for Dean, Jo’s in the lead, and she lets out a whoop when she realizes it’s him.

“Dean!” she exclaims as soon as he’s through the airlock.

Dean grins. “Jo. You gonna take me to your mom for a telling off?”

“Depends. What sorta trouble you bring around this time? And what the hell are you wearing?”

With a grimace, Dean looks down at the outrageous clothing Gabriel lent them. “Yeah, do I have a story for you.” And then, seeing Jo eyeing Cas at his side, he adds, “Oh, this is Cas, er, Castiel.”

Jo’s eyes widen. “ _ The _ Castiel?”

“Yeah, yeah, he’s a big deal.” Dean rushes into to say, not really that interested in having this conversation in the open or around so many people he doesn’t know. “Can we get to your place without drawing too much attention?”

Jo puts her hands on her hips and shoots Dean an unimpressed look. “So, you have brought trouble, then.”

Dean leans in and speaks quietly. “Trying to stay under the radar in a big way. You willing to help with that?”

Jo sizes up Cas, then nods. “Follow me.”

\--

Jo lends them extra port guard uniforms and the chance to change into them in the port station before they head for the Roadhouse. Ellen’s waiting for them in the back, and Dean can hear Bobby at the front talking to Ash. A surge of happiness courses through Dean at being in the familiar surroundings; the smell of grease and alcohol and the slightly-sour scent of people who’ve spent too long cooped up in spaceships feels like an old friend.

Ellen takes one look at him and pulls him into a tight hug. “Glad to see you, honey. You’ve been gone too long.”

Dean squeezes back. “Yeah, I know. Sammy’s in school now, and I’ve been tryin’ to keep it that way.”

Ellen pulls out of the hug and but keeps holding onto his shoulders. “Good. That boy’s too smart to be anywhere else.” She looks over Dean’s shoulder at Cas and then back at Dean. “And who’s this?”

“Uh, Cas. He’s, um, he’s a friend.”

Ellen lifts an eyebrow at him. “Uh huh.” She gestures toward a small table. “Have a seat. What can I get you to drink? You look like you need one.”

“Anything on tap would be great,” says Dean. 

“Water is fine,” says Cas, absently. He’s busy taking in the surroundings, squinting at everything.

Ellen returns with their drinks in a moment, followed by Bobby, Ash, and a third person Dean was hoping to see but wasn’t sure she'd be around. Superior hacking skills are in high demand, after all.

Charlie tackle-hugs him. 

“Dean!” she all but yells. “Jo said you were here and I almost didn’t believe it!” She pulls back and smacks him playfully on the arm. “Dude, you’ve been gone so long I was starting to think you’d forgotten all about us.”

“I’d never do that,” Dean promises. 

Charlie catches sight of Cas and side-eyes Dean. “And you brought someone home to meet us, eh?”

“It’s not like that,” Dean says, shoving Charlie. “This is Cas, a friend.”

Cas solemnly shakes Charlie’s hand while Dean embraces Bobby and nods at Ash in turn.

“Good to see you, boy,” Bobby tells him. “But you look like something’s going down, and after the way you told Jo to get you here unnoticed, I’m bettin’ it’s nothing good.”

“No, it’s not. Have I got a fucking crazy story for you.”

“Let’s all have a seat,” Ellen suggests, and everyone moves to the kitchen to sit around the old wooden table.

Dean fills them in on the events of the last two and a half weeks, Cas interjecting here and there with details Dean forgot or to clarify a point. Dean leaves out the part where he originally planned to bring Cas here to capture him and return him to Aux. 

Once he’s finished, there’s silence around the table. Ash whistles from where he’s perched cross-legged on a countertop, Ellen and Bobby are looking at each other with grim expressions, and Jo and Charlie both look like they want to ask a thousand questions. 

But Ellen gets the first question in. “So, what’s the plan, then? You can’t stay here indefinitely. If Michael's out looking for you, eventually someone around here’s going to notice and report you. Some people don't give two shits about loyalty to the smuggler’s code.”

“I know. But we needed some superior brainpower and a chance to figure out our strategy without worrying about Michael coming after us.”

Charlie perks up at the mention of superior brain power. “Ash and I can help you find all the evidence you need.”

“And we can help you with supplies and gear,” says Ellen, pitching her head toward Bobby, who nods in agreement. 

“Got somethin’ for you in the yard that might come in handy,” adds Bobby.

“And I’ll help keep you hidden,” says Jo with a sly grin.

Dean looks around at his adopted family and grins, grateful for their support and readiness to help him and Cas. He glances over at Cas and the smile falls off his face. He looks like he’s about to fall over, completely exhausted.

“Cas?”

Cas jerks back to attention. “Yes?” 

“You ok?”

“Of course,” Cas says too quickly. “I must just be feeling the accumulated tiredness from our long journey.”

Dean frowns. “Let’s get you to bed, ok?”

“There’s the two cots and a couple of blankets in the supply closet, and you can set up in the spare room, you know the usual spot” says Ellen, and Dean shoots her a grateful look.

Cas leans heavily on him while they climb up the metal stairs in the back to the upper floor. Dean shows the communal bathroom which is thankfully stocked with extra amenities and leaves him there to take care of getting ready for bed. He heads to the supply room and finds the cots folded up in a corner. He chuckles as he pulls them into the spare room and unfolds them – he’s pretty sure these are the same ones he and Sam once used. Then they’d seemed a perfect fit, now he’ll have to curl up to keep his feet from hanging off the end.

Dean gives Cas a reasonable amount of time to get ready, then checks on him. Cas is sitting on the toilet, his head in his hands.

“Cas?”

He looks up quickly and Dean can see he’s trying to cover for how tired he is. “I’m ready.”

“Are…come on.”

Dean shows him the cots and leaves Cas to choose whichever he prefers while Dean goes through his own bathroom routine. He shakes his head when he comes back and finds Cas already curled up under a blanket, watching Dean as he gets settled on his own cot.

“Night, Cas.”

“Goodnight, Dean.”

Dean’s about to fall asleep when he hears Cas whisper his name.

“Yeah?” he grunts out.

“Dean, I suspect I am losing my advanced abilities.”

That wakes Dean right the fuck back up. “Losing your superpowers?”

“Yes, I cannot recall ever feeling so tired or weak, and I’ve begun needing more food and drink than usual.”

“You do seem kinda out of it lately. I know it’s been a rough few weeks–”

“This is more than just usual fatigue. When I say I cannot recall ever feeling so tired or weak, I mean in proportion to how I felt before the genetic manipulation.”

Dean props himself up on one elbow so he can see Cas better. “Are you…I dunno, not doing something that you should be? Pushups or eating extra protein or something?”

“I was given a daily regimen of injections at the facility, and I am beginning to suspect that they were for maintaining and stabilizing the gene manipulation the scientists generated in my body.”

“And now that you’re here…”

“Without the injections, I will likely continue to deteriorate until I die.”

“What!” Dean starts to get up. “We need to see a doctor right now, then.”

Cas shakes his head. “It won’t matter. The injections and genetic changes they generated are too complex for an untrained doctor to understand. I highly doubt you have someone on this base who is capable of coding a serum to my specific genome to reestablish equilibrium with my undocumented manipulations.”

“Then we should go back to Zion right now. We’ll have to find some way to break into Aux to get your stuff. I might be able to convince Henriksen to–”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Dean. I have yet to provide you with sufficient evidence to support my claims, and until then we must remain.”

Dean makes a frustrated noise. “Fuck evidence. You dying takes priority over everything.”

Cas blinks at him and frowns. “Nothing is more important than finding a way to stop Michael.”

“How are you not more upset about this?”

“I accepted that there would be consequences for my escape long before I attempted it. In fact, I anticipated something exactly like this might happen. It makes sense that if Michael were to create an army, they would have to be controlled in some way. Any soldier who rebelled would not remain a threat for long for this very reason.”

“Dying isn’t gonna prove anything to anyone, Cas.”

“No, but it can be useful. In fact, my death was always my plan. Once we have the evidence of Michael’s deceit and it has been sent do those who can best utilize that information, I fully intend to use Gabriel’s ship as a weapon. I will fill it with explosives and fly it into whatever facility Michael is currently occupying.”

Dean gapes, trying to figure out how to respond to that. What comes out is, “How are you going to know where he is?”

“You told me when I first captured you that you were able to track Michael.”

“And that’s why you decided to keep me around? Because I can help you complete your revenge mission or something?”

Cas glares at him. “It is not a ‘revenge’ mission, is it justice. Michael tortured and killed my unit brothers and sisters. He should die for that. And I will be the one to ensure that happens.”

“You can’t solve all your problems by throwing your life away.”

“No? And what would you know about that, soldier?”

Dean hisses through his teeth. “Don’t assume you know anything about me, cuz you don’t. I can value life even if I also had to end it sometimes. And self-sacrifice isn't some--some kind of brave act, it’s just stupid.”

“You are so contradictory,” snaps Cas, punching his pillow in frustration. “You buck authority and yet you joined the armada and follow orders despite the fact that you doubt they are correct. You claim that life is important but do very little to ensure the continuation of your own. And now you try to lecture me on how I should live my life, when you have no plans for your own future.”

“Oh, you wanna talk about contradictions? You act all mysterious and holier than thou but you’re just scared. I can see it in your face. You are afraid of what’s–”

“You know nothing,” Cas growls. “And I’m done talking to you.” He turns over, pointedly, and whips the blanket over his head, like he can block out Dean with a flimsy piece of fabric. 

Never to be outdone,  Dean jumps to his feet, swearing, and stomps out of the room . He sits on the metal stairsteps until his heart stops pounding, his anger replaced by a sinking hollowness. With a sigh, he goes back to the spare room and lies down on his cot, pointedly not looking over at Cas.

\--

Dean tosses and turns all night. 

Despite being in familiar surroundings, he feels completely adrift in the wake of his argument with Cas. He finally gives up on sleep in the early hours and gets up to check on Cas, who has been an unmoving lump since they stopped talking and fell asleep. 

Dean cautiously peels back the blanket and sighs in relief when it doesn’t wake Cas – relief that is short-lived when he gets a look at him. Cas looks like he’s getting sick, face flushed and forehead sweaty. Dean stares at him for a while, a resurgence of anger replaced by worry, followed eventually by confusion. He’s mad, but he also sort of respects Cas for being willing to die for his cause. All in all he feels unsettled by the deluge of information and feelings he’s been forced to process lately. 

He stews in his mess of feelings until he can’t stand it anymore, then sighs and goes downstairs to help Bobby cook breakfast.

“Mornin’”

“Morning, Bobby. You want help?”

Bobby moves over so Dean can start mixing the flatcake batter. They are silent until he passes Dean a cup of capulus while he’s laying strips of meat on the griddle.

“Thanks.”

“What’s eatin’ you?”

“Just worried.”

“’Bout…?”

“Sam,” he lies.

Bobby scoffs. “That boy’s got a good head on his shoulders. Seen him handle plenty a scuffle without problem.”

Dean hums and flips the meat.

“Now, the fella you come in with, I could see how a person could be worried about him.”

Dean takes a sip of his capulus and just shrugs.

Bobby adds another batch of eggs into his pan and steps back to give Dean a scrutinizing look. “What’s eatin’ you, son?”

With a reluctant sigh, Dean admits, “Cas thinks he might be losing his powers because he escaped. And last night he got talking about some stupid suicidal plan to take out Michael.”

“Hmm. And you don’t agree.”

“Course not.”

“And there’s no way to fix his problem?”

“If we go back to Zion, there’s a chance we could reverse things.”

“But?”

Dean closes his eyes and sighs. “Cas doesn’t want to do it, so it doesn’t matter.”

“You gonna let him stop you?”

Setting the mug down, Dean goes back to minding the meat strips. “He won’t listen to me. Said I’m ‘contradictory’ and gave me the cold shoulder.”

“Oh, you don’t say. He hurt your feelings? Suddenly you can’t get your way and so you fold?” Bobby’s using the patronizing tone Dean used to hate as a kid. Turns out he hates it as an adult, too.

“What’m I supposed to do? Knock him out and drag him back to get treated? He’s not wrong - we still have to get hard evidence of Michael breaking the treaty and then figure out what to do with it.”

Dean looks up and finds Bobby giving him a pointed look. “Doesn’t mean you can’t multitask. That’s what being family means, boy. We take care of each other even while everything else is blowin’ up around us.”

“You’ve done plenty already. Besides, Cas is my responsibility, even if he’s acting like a dumbass.”

Bobby shakes his head at Dean. “You’re the thickest idjit sometimes.”

Dean pulls a face. “What?”

Bobby sighs at him, then opens the cabinet to his left, pulls out a bottle, uncorks it, and pours a substantial amount into his cup. Dean offers his own cup up, receives an equally-generous helping, and takes a swig as Bobby watches expectantly.

Eyes watering and voice gone slightly hoarse, he asks, “You got anything stronger?”

Bobby slaps him on the back and clinks their mugs together.

\--

Twenty minutes later, Cas comes down and loads up the plate Bobby offers him, despite looking like he might keel over at any moment. He doesn’t say anything to Dean when he sits down at the table across from him, and Dean has a feeling that if he wasn’t so hungry, he’d have avoided being around Dean altogether. Dean eats his own breakfast quickly, hoping he can finish before Bobby leaves and he’s stuck alone with Cas. 

Unfortunately, Bobby’s quicker than him and leaves for the junkyard while Dean’s still wolfing down his eggs. Ellen stops long enough to get some capulus and then heads through the swinging door to the front of The Roadhouse. Jo comes down right after to snag a few flatcakes to go, dressed in her patrol uniform but her demeanor making it obvious she’s just rolled out of bed. 

Dean brings Ash and Charlie the breakfast leftovers just to escape the kitchen. They’re holed up in their hacking den in the basement and probably have been all night, working on getting into Michael’s databases. It’s still surprising to Dean how well-lit they keep their den – he’d always pictured hacking as something done in dimly-lit spaces to match its clandestine nature. When he’d brought it up one time, Charlie had told him low light impaired memory, and then gone back to frowning up at the gibberish-covered array of screens above her.

The usual line of empty energy drink cans delineating Ash’s area from Charlie’s is still there, so Dean shoves a few out of the way to set down the leftovers. “Morning, nerds. How’s it goin’?”

“He’s using some weird key encryption thing, but he’s not smarter than us,” Ash says. Charlie is in the zone and barely looks up to say hello.

“'Course not. I brought you some breakfast.”

“Thanks, Dean!” Charlie exclaims, grabbing a flatcake and shoving it into her mouth without looking away from the screen.

Dean watches them work for a bit, trying to decide what to do with his morning. He’s about to ask if he can stick around if he promises not to bother them when Cas shows up.

“I would like to help,” he says, completely sidestepping Dean.

“Sure, pull up a chair,” says Ash, nodding toward an empty seat to his left.

“Uh, I guess I’ll be upstairs if any of you need me,” says Dean. Charlie pauses long enough to flash a smile, Ash is back into furiously tapping his console, and Cas completely ignores him.

Finding himself at loose ends, Dean decides to go give Bobby a hand on some ship repairs. The walk to the junkyard is cathartic, a nice change from all the time he spent stuck in Gabriel’s ship. It doesn’t matter that if he looks upward he can see the top of the cavity in the moon; there’s still enough room to breathe.

Bobby sees him when he enters the yard and nods his head toward a Chevelle that has rail gun damage and looks like it’s seen better days. When he walks around to the back, he finds the entire thruster unit missing and a new one nearby, tools at the ready.

Dean shakes his head. Bobby knows him too well.

He spends the entire morning rebuilding the Chevelle’s thrusters. It’s cathartic and relaxing, and almost enough to keep him from focusing on Cas and the situation they’re in.

Almost.

Midday, Bobby comes over to look at Dean’s progress. He grunts his approval, then hands Dean a sandwich and a water canister. They share their meal in comfortable silence, then return to their respective projects.

This time when Dean goes back to work on the thrusters, his brain refuses to stay focused on the repair. When he’s not worrying about Cas, he’s trying to come up with a better plan for going after Michael once they have hard evidence. There’s a chance Sam could help out if he’s still ok, but Dean doesn’t want to involve him if he doesn’t have to. Besides, how could they take on someone like Michael in any way that’s not ultimately a suicide mission?

A few hours later, Bobby comes back over. “Time for dinner.”

Dean wraps things up for the day and follows Bobby back to The Roadhouse.

Dinner is quiet. Charlie and Ash say something about processors and some other geek nonsense that means they haven’t gotten anywhere, Cas talks to everyone but him, and everyone keeps giving Dean sympathetic looks that he brushes off. Later that night, there’s no conversation whatsoever. Just two people on their individual cots facing away, each trying to direct the storm clouds hanging over his head toward the other.

The next three days are the same. Dean gets up, checks on Cas while he’s sleeping, helps make breakfast, brings Ash and Charlie the leftovers, scoots when Cas shows up, works in the junkyard fixing beat-up ships and shares lunch with Bobby, comes back for dinner and to more reports of stymied progress from the geeks, gets the cold shoulder from Cas, and then it’s to bed to lie in a silent room with backs to each other.

Cas ignores Dean, Dean ignores Cas. 

Cas looks worse and worse, and if Dean makes Charlie promise she’ll keep him fed and hydrated, well, nobody has to know but him and Charlie.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

The afternoon of the fifth day, Bobby comes over a bit too early for quitting time, so Dean sets down his tools.

“What’s going on?”

“That’s enough for today. Got somethin’ to show you, come on.”

Dean follows Bobby through the maze of wrecks to the back part of the shipyard. They walk around a massive hulking shell of some kind of freighter and suddenly there she is: Baby, looking brand new. Dean huffs a disbelieving laugh, and barely stops himself from rushing over.

“You fixed her?”

“Almost. Took me nearly eight years of spare time, but she’ll run.”

“I thought after – I thought she was scrap.”

Bobby gives him an unimpressed look. “You kidding me? I can fix just about anything, you know that.”

Dean reaches up and runs a hand along the dark hull. The silver trim glistens. “Bobby.” His voice catches in his throat and he has to hide his face for a moment lest he embarrass himself.

Bobby claps a hand on his back. “She’s all yours. I need to return Hudak’s ship now, so don’t get any ideas about taking her on a joyride – the docking clamps are rusted shut. Just thought you should know she’s here for you if you ever decide you want her.”

The moment Bobby is out of sight, Dean presses his forehead to the hull and pushes down a tide of emotion threatening to drown him. “Good to see you, Baby. And looking so damn good, too.”

He pats the ship, then steps back to take all of her in again. Then he moves to the side, finds the keypad, taps out the familiar code, and listens to the new hydraulics smoothly open the hatch and lower the ramp. With steady, almost reverent steps, he climbs the ramp and enters the hatch, then immediately turns left toward the bow.

The pilot’s chair is just as he remembers. Bobby must have refitted it with the same kind of fabric, because it smells like it always did, though a lot sharper, not yet dulled by the odor of unwashed, sweaty bodies. Everything looks just like it did, like Baby hadn’t been completely blasted apart, but maybe…

Dean runs his fingers under the console, wondering if it will still be there, and sure enough, Bobby restored the panel with his and Sam’s initials, the one they carved into with a knife while they lay on the deck underneath it nearly twenty-five years ago. He traces Sam’s initials and sends a silent prayer for his safety.

Then he sits back into the chair and just lets himself drown in a whole spectrum of memories. Good ones, bad ones, happy ones, sad ones. He feels like he’s finally home, something he’s not felt since the last time he sat in this chair. It’s wonderful. It’s terrible.

Cas finds him there a while later.

He hesitantly sits down in the co-pilot seat and they stay like that a long moment, neither of them willing to be the first one to say something.

Cas breaks first.

“Bobby said you were here.”

Dean just grunts.

Cas shifts in his seat, like he’s not sure if he should stay or not. 

“This vessel…it has personal significance?” Cas tries again.

Dean sighs. “This is Baby. She was my home growing up.” He runs a hand along the console. “Bobby fixed her up.”

“She is…handsome?” Cas offers.

Dean huffs a laugh in spite of himself. “She’s gorgeous, Cas. Sexy and sleek. Baby can outrun any ship, at least, she could when I was her engineer and sometimes pilot.”

“Her designation is Baby?”

“She’s an Impala-class vessel, but I call her Baby because, well, she’s kinda important to me. She took care of me and Sam, was there when we had nowhere else to go.”

Cas frowns and looks around the cockpit, like he’s trying to imagine a smaller version of Dean occupying the space.

“Why are you here Cas?” Dean asks, exasperated. He just wants to be left alone in this place of memories.

“Bobby said you would probably remain here and forget about dinner, and that I should come get you.”

“Bobby told you that, huh.”

“I suspected he had ulterior motives in mind, but I also didn’t want you to miss dinner.”

Dean rolls his eyes the second part of Cas’ sentence, then pats the console. “He’s the one who gave her back to me, he should know better than to expect I’d be right back.”

Cas peers curiously at the console.

“It’s much less advanced than Gabriel’s ship.”

“She’s a classic. Don’t need a lotta bells and whistles to make a ship go, ya know.” 

Cas hums and they lapse back into silence. Then Cas says, “I also come here because I have something to give you.”

“Give me? Why?”

Cas reaches into his pocket and pulls out a little piece of metal. “This is a token of significance to me. I would like it very much if you would keep it with you at all times.”

Dean looks down at the hexagonal charm, flipping it over to reveal a small design that seems like it could be letters, just not in any language he knows. “What is it?”

“I need to know that you will keep it safe,” Cas insists, his tone serious. 

He looks so earnest that Dean immediately yields. “Of course, Cas,” he says like it’s obvious, a given that he’ll do what Cas asks of him. Like they didn’t just spend the last four days playing the silent game and he’s not still mad at Cas for wanting to be a self-sacrificing dumbass.

Dean tucks the charm into his pocket and looks up to find Cas still invading his personal space. His eyes are getting more bloodshot and his lips are chapped, and Dean’s worry surpasses his lingering anger.

“Uh, how’re you feeling? Have you gotten enough water?”

Cas rolls his eyes. “Charlie insisted I take frequent breaks, despite her reluctance to do the same. You’ll be pleased to know we made some progress, though not as much as any of us hoped.”

“Hey, progress is progress. We’ll get it figured out. Charlie and Ash are the best I know.”

“They are extremely skilled. I am impressed by their resourcefulness as well as their kindness.”

Dean cracks another smile, this one a little easier than the last, a swell of pride at Cas seeing his friends in such a positive light. 

Cas gets a fond look on his face and says, “They care for you a great deal, your family.”

“Yeah, I got real lucky. They were always there for me, through all the bad times. After dad died. After I got back from the war and... wasn’t the same person for a while.”

Cas nods. “They are good people. It is fitting you would find peace with them.”

“Peace? Don’t know that any of us ever find that.”

“What do you mean by–”

“Hey,” Dean interrupts, turning away from Cas’ perceptive gaze and back to the console. “Do you want a tour?”

Cas is quiet for a moment, then says, “Yes, I would like that.”

Dean takes him around Baby’s interior, pointing out spots of personal significance (“And there’s where Sam nearly blew up the condenser because he was too busy reading nerd stuff to pay attention to whether or not his food was turning into charcoal.” “Oh, and I fixed up this coupler what seemed like every week, but no matter what it was always broken again the next week. Kinda got attached to it so when Bobby swapped it out I kept the old one.”). They get to Dean’s old room, and although it’s not furnished like it was when Dean lived there full time, he still gets a silly smile on his face as he remembers all the time he spent inside, watching the stars through the viewport. He avoids John’s room, not ready to look inside, even though it’s likely just as empty. If Cas notices, he doesn’t say anything.

They return to the cockpit, settling back into their chairs.

“The way you talk about Sam…it reminds me of Balthazar,” Cas says quietly as he runs his fingertips along the edge of the seat.

Dean watches his fingers. “Yeah? Losing him must have been…uh, you know, I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to Sam. Probably something stupid.”

“He was a good brother.” Cas’ fingers pause, then resume stroking the seat edge. “I should have been faster, should have anticipated what he would do. I was a poor leader and a poor brother that day.”

Dean feels a desire to reach out, to comfort, to do _ something _ about the awful expression clouding Cas’ face.

But Cas pushes on before Dean can decide on anything. “Ever since, I have experienced a surge of fear anytime someone is in danger, where there was once just cool acceptance of the risks. I attempted to ignore it, but the feeling would not abate. And after Michael brought the Garrison to the R&D facility and began the experiments, and I had to watch my brothers- and sisters-in-arms die one by one, it was more torture than anything the scientists could do to me alone.”

Cas looks up and pins Dean in place with his severe expression, his voice going gravelly. “Do you know what that’s like? To be tortured beyond the bounds your captors have set for you, to be slowly undone by your own mind? To never know peace, to be constantly afraid of what is to come lest it throw you right back into that place of pain and helplessness again?”

Dean swallows thickly as the familiar rush of panic begins to encroach. “I, uh, I…”

“Dean?” The look of anguish on Cas’ face is quickly replaced with concern. “What is it?”

He looks down at his hands in his lap, unable to meet Cas’ eyes. Is he really considering tell Cas something that he’s never told anyone, not his commanding officer, not even Sam?

Apparently, yes. Because…because he thinks of anyone, Cas might actually understand.

“I do know. What that feels like.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “I’ve felt, I feel exactly that.”

He begins worrying at the cuticle on his thumb, trying to find the words to explain. “Just, uh…just after Sam got his commission and was transferred, I was captured on some back-water planet, one that ended up scorched and burned so the entire battle for it ended up being pointless.

“His name-” His voice fails him, so he has to try again. “His name was Alastair. He only had me for forty days, but it felt like forty years. Sometimes, I dream I’m still there, trapped in that meat locker, begging for help, wishing I could just die already. Sometimes, I can’t handle being in tight spaces or anywhere without an immediate escape because…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t have to. Cas reaches out and places his hand over Dean’s, stopping him from worrying the cuticle into a bloody mess.

“Because it’s like you’re right back there all over again.” The hand gently squeezes. “Because maybe you never left, and this is all just a hallucination you dreamed up to get away from the pain.”

Dean looks up, looks into Cas’ eyes and doesn’t try to mask any of what he’s feeling. It’s too raw, too near the surface. “Yeah.”

Cas nods gravely. Dean flips his hand so they are palm to palm and squeezes back. Cas’ thumb methodically strokes the heel of his hand and Dean focuses on the slow, gentle rhythm, matching his breaths to it.

“We both have suffered much. More than most would understand.”

Dean huffs a laugh. “Some might say we deserved it.”

“They would be wrong.”

The certainty in Cas’ voice is unexpectedly soothing. They stay in that moment until Dean can no longer stand the vulnerability, and he jokes, “So, what sort of future can two head cases like us ever hope for?”

But Cas, unsurprisingly, takes it as a serious question. “I would wish for somewhere quiet and out of the way to pass the rest of my life.”

And that really appeals to Dean. He can vividly imagine what that might would look like because it’s something he’s dreamed of for a long time.

“Though, such a fantasy is merely that. I will die soon.” Cas glances around and then looks pointedly at Dean. “The company and surroundings are far better than I had imagined, though.”

“You gotta stop talking like that. We’ll figure something out, I promise.”

“It’s ok, Dean.”

“It’s not, though.” Dean wants to be mad at Cas for being so accepting, but the anger’s burnt itself out for now.

“Yes, but that won’t change what’s going to happen. I have made my decision.”

“Doesn’t mean I gotta be happy about it.”

Cas smiles a little, then puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder and pulls him into a hug. Dean goes willingly, grateful for the chance to hide his face. It's overwhelming, to be offered comfort like this. It almost hurts. Dean leans into the pain.

They stay that way for long moments, breathing in synch, eyes shut tightly against reality, only breaking apart when Bobby’s voice from the con interrupts to let them know that dinner’s starting in ten minutes. Dean reluctantly pulls away, telling himself the only reason he let the hug happen was that he was swept up in the moment. His gut says otherwise, buthe firmly tells it to shut the hell up.

Because it also tells him that he'll do anything to protect Cas. And that’s a bit too much for him to be contemplating right now.

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

Dinner, as well as Ellen, Bobby, and Jo, are waiting on them when they return to the Roadhouse. 

Cas sits to Dean’s right, like he did in the Impala’s cockpit, and like he did in Gabriel’s ship. 

Charlie and Ash show up a few minutes late – Ash to pour capulus into his energy drink canister and go right back to it, and Charlie to sit down and begin shoving anything she’s served into her mouth like she hasn’t eaten for a week. 

“Woah, woah, slow down or you’ll get hiccups,” Dean cautions. “Did you eat any of the stuff I brought you this morning?”

Charlie stops moving with her fork in midair and blinks, like she didn’t realize what she was doing. “Yeah, but I want to get back to things like right now.”

Dean shakes his head. “Cas said you guys’ve made some progress?”

“Oh!” Now Charlie sets down her fork fully and starts gesturing with her hands as she explains some kind of backdoor trap on the Zion mainframe that nearly got her and Ash reported and blocked. 

“You gonna get us noticed?” asks Ellen, with only the slightest touch of concern in her voice. She, like everyone else at the table, knows Ash or Charlie alone are terrifyingly efficient and unstoppable, but together they could really fuck shit up and hold most any outpost for ransom without their morning capulus fix. Dean once watched Charlie transfer all of a trafficker’s credits from his account to an orphanage while chatting up some trader at the Roadhouse’s bar. Charlie can be kinda scary.

“Come on, my dudes,” Charlie says with a pained expression. “I’d never bring any kinda hellfire down on us. Plus, once we figured out it was a randomized key that would only trigger after you tried picking it without using the right sequence on a second hidden randomized key we were able to write our own key program and replace it entirely. So, the good news is that we’re into the mainframe and we found and accessed Michael’s files.”

“But?” prompts Cas. 

“But something seems really squidgy.”

“Squidgy?” repeats Dean. “What’s that mean?”

Charlie pulls a face. “Well, everything’s in a weird language. Ash’s translation programs couldn’t make heads or tails of it when we fed it through. So, until we get that figured out, we’re stuck. I can’t find any other way to get Auxilium’s files, either. Everything looks like it funnels into Michael’s hub one-way.”

Dean rubs his forehead while he tries to think. “Do you think he’s got some geek of his own that’s doing this? Michael’s not exactly been subtle lately. I’ve been able to keep tabs on his movements for months now, and you’d think if he was trying to keep something hidden that wouldn’t be possible.”

Dean can feel Cas looking at him while he admits that, but stays focused on Charlie. 

“I don’t know. I’m pretty familiar with all the major players out there, and this language doesn’t look anything like their style. Castiel said it looked sort of familiar though,” says Charlie, and now Dean looks over.

Cas nods, keeping his eyes fixed on Dean. “Yes, it has some similarity to Demoniac, the primary written language of the Perdian Dominion. It is possibly a dialect that I was not briefed on as a part of my mission to Inferos.”

“Why would Michael be usin’ the enemy’s language for his files?” asks Bobby.

Cas breaks eye contact with Dean and looks across the table to address Bobby. “It is highly likely he captured one of their hackers and is utilizing their skillset to keep anyone from doing exactly what we are attempting to do.”

Charlie picks up her fork and starts eating again, slower this time, pausing between mouthfuls to say, “Good thing we’ve got Castiel here, though. He’s helping Ash reset his translation program. It was able to identify a couple of words an hour ago, so I’d say if we keep at it for another few days we might be able to get most of it translated.”

“Good work, Charlie,” says Dean, excited. “I knew I could count on you and Ash.”

“Oh, the credit should really go to Castiel. If he hadn’t pointed out the similarities to Demoniac, we’d still be at a dead end.”

Cas looks slightly taken aback by the praise, but recovers quickly. “You are being too modest, Charlie. Your program’s adaptability and the creativity you utilized to dispatch the randomized key design are extremely commendable.”

Dean feels a swell of warmth at how well Cas and Charlie are getting along. It makes him grin stupidly and he sees Bobby raise a pointed eyebrow at him. Everyone suddenly looks over, so Dean clears his throat and says, “Uh, good work all around, I guess,” to cover for his goofy grin, but Bobby just shakes his head and mumbles something about ‘idijts’ and ‘blindness’, and Charlie smiles sweetly as she glances between him and Cas. Jo just snorts and keeps pushing food around her plate.

Ellen picks up her plate and stands. “Ok, ya’ll are in charge of clean up. I need to get to the front to deal with the evening crowd.”

Jo, who has been quiet throughout dinner like she’s preoccupied with something, takes care of boxing up the leftover food, and Dean cleans the dishes so that Cas and Charlie can go back to work.

On the way out, Charlie starts to say, “Oh, Dean! You haven’t even seen the coolest thing Cas came up with–” but Cas ushers her out. Dean shoots Cas a grateful look for sparing him from more computer gibberish.

Bobby sits at the table reading a book while Dean does the dishes. As soon as he’s put away the last plate, Dean joins him, bringing along a bottle and two glasses.

They sit together for a while, drinking down the bottle. 

“Thanks, Bobby,” says Dean. “For all the work you did to get Baby looking like herself again.”

Bobby grunts. “Didn’t seem right to leave her rusting in the back.”

“I thought she was scrap, though. Gone the same way as Dad.”

Bobby sets down his book and gives Dean a considering look. “Easier to repair metal than bone, no matter how advanced medical science’s gotten.”

Dean knocks back the rest of the alcohol in his glass. “Yeah.”

“Eh, it’s convenient you came here when you did,” starts Bobby. “Now I don’t have to figure out how to get her to you. Woulda been a pain in my ass.”

Dean huffs a laugh. “Yeah, well, glad my life going to shit could work out so conveniently for you.”

“That what you think, son? That your life’s off some hypothetical track?”

“It’s sure not going in the right direction. I’m helping an asset who escaped from the same person whose files we’re trying to hack into and who I used to take orders from because he was in charge of our entire fucking side of the war. Seems a little off track to me,” Dean spits out, not sure where the anger is coming from.

Bobby scowls at him. “You have a funny idea of what ‘right direction’ is.”

“Whatd'you mean by that?”

“You really think joining the armada was a good decision? I tried to talk you out of it, knew you’d hate being told what to do all the time, no matter what your old man made you believe about yourself. And then you’ve spent all your time since the war ended doing nothing but working to send money to your brother.”

Dean frowns. “It’s Sam, of course I’d do anything to support him.”

“Don’t be stupid,” says Bobby, frustrated. “I’m not saying you can’t support Sam, I’m saying you’re doing everything for him and leaving nothing for yourself.”

“So? He’s the one with the bright future. He’s gonna be a lawyer or a politician or something else useful soon, Bobby. He’ll be more than I could ever hope to be and he’ll have a chance to do good in a way I never could.”

Bobby sets his glass down on the table too firmly, obviously frustrated with Dean for some reason. “Why are you talking like you’re something to use up and discard? Like you can’t do good, too? What do you think you’re doing right here, right now?”

Dean blinks and tries to figure out what Bobby means.

“Investigatin’ Michael? Helping someone who was his prisoner?” says Bobby like Dean’s being slow.

“But that’s what’s ruining my life, Bobby, that’s what’s making it go in the wrong direction.”

“Oh, you don’t believe that. Otherwise you wouldn’t be getting’ so close with your new friend.”

Dean scoffs. “We were stuck in a ship together for two weeks. We would’ve killed each other if we hadn’t come to an agreement to tolerate each other. And we just spent the last few days ignoring each other, so we’re not exactly buddy-buddy.”

Bobby shakes his head. “Hell, I know your old man wasn’t big on feelings, but surely even you can see what’s goin’ on.”

Jo comes flying through the door before Dean has a chance to respond. “Guys, I think we’ve got a problem.”

Dean’s hand automatically goes to his side for the blaster Cas gave him. “What?”

“Gordon’s ship docked about an hour ago, right before dinner, and he arrived with some new faces that don’t seem too friendly.”

“Gordon?”

Bobby’s expression turns grim. “Bounty hunter. He’s always been a little off. Always manages to bring in good stuff, though, so we tolerate him. Not someone I’d willingly partner up with, though.”

Jo pulls open the weapons cabinet. “Well, I told Caleb to keep an eye on them, and he just called over to warn me that Gordon’s shipmates are headed this way and they look like they’re packing. And with our latest arrivals,” she nods her head toward Dean, “I’m thinking a fight might be on its way.”

Dean joins her at the cabinet and adds a blaster rifle and another hand blaster to his arsenal. He turns back toward Bobby. “You want anything?”

Bobby pulls a blaster out from under the kitchen table. “Always got at least one within reach.”

Dean grins. “Nice to see some things haven’t changed.”

He’s checking the charge on the rifle when the first shots sound from the front. Jo gasps out “Mom” and heads for the door. Dean grabs her shoulder and pulls her back against the wall alongside the door with him. Bobby moves to stand on the other side. 

They listen as the initial shouts and sounds of a scuffle abruptly stop. No more blaster shots follow, so Dean looks over at Bobby. In silent agreement, they sneak through the swinging door and stay low, using the bar as cover. 

Ellen is sitting on the far side with her back to the bar and her eyes go wide when she sees them. Dean feels Jo at his back breathe out a sigh of relief when they both realize she’s unharmed. 

“How many?” he mouths at Ellen and she shakes her head.

“Too fast,” she mouths back. “Maybe two?”

Jo scoots past Dean to join her mother while Dean tries to peek over the bar to get a look at the lay of the land.

But then a low female voice sing-songs, “We seeeeee you.”

Dean immediately ducks back into a crouch. They’re sitting ducks back here – as much as the bar offers protection, it also keeps him from determining the number and location of the assailants. The door they came through is an escape option, but there’s a chance it’s already been made by the owner of the voice and they’ll attack as they retreat through it. There’s a side door to their left, but they’d have to hop over the bar and into the line of fire to get to it, so Dean gestures frantically, trying to get Bobby’s attention. But he’s already further along the bar, between Dean and the Harvelles with his back to Dean, so he waves at Jo instead.

Jo sees him gesturing but ignores him, yelling out, “Who are you and what do you want?”

A higher-pitched female voice says, “We want to talk to the owner.”

“You’re talking to her,” spits out Ellen.

“Good,” says the first voice. “Now, we hear you’re offering shelter to two new arrivals. All we want is to have a little chat with one of them.”

Dean grits his teeth. Ellen purses her lips as she meets his eyes, then demands, “Why?”

“He’s of interest to our employer.” Second voice again, closer this time. Dean’s grip on his blaster tightens and he sees Bobby rummaging quietly for something under the bar’s surface.

“And that would be?” asks Ellen, eyes tracking Bobby’s movements.

“Oh, he’s kind of a big deal,” purrs the first voice. “But we’d rather not waste our time on such things. Where is Castiel?”

Dean spits out, “None of your business,” before he can think better of it.

“Oooo, no need to get tetchy, we just want to ask him a couple of questions, that’s all,” coos the first voice.

“Right, and I’m just holding this blaster because it makes me look good,” mutters Dean.

“Well, how about we make this easy for you,” pipes up the second voice, nearly right on top of Dean’s position. “You give us Castiel, we have a good chat, everyone in this room and on this base remains alive, and we don’t blow up the luxury ship you arrived in.”

Bobby’s rummaging has stopped and Dean sees him gesture something to Ellen and Jo. 

“And if we don’t?” Dean stalls, watching Bobby.

Both voices laugh, the first a throaty chuckle that goes on for too long, the second a self-satisfied ‘ha’. “Then I’d say we’re done talking and it’s time for you to die.”

Bobby finally turns back to Dean, mimes covering his ears and closing his eyes pointedly, waits for Dean to nod, then holds his right hand behind himself, out where all of them can see it. He pulls his thumb into his palm, then his pinky finger, then his ring finger.

Dean recognizes it as a countdown. 

“You first, assholes!” Dean shouts as Bobby goes from two to just one finger, then rapidly clamps his hands over his ears and slams his eyes shut.

Even with the warning and covering his eyes and ears, the pulse grenade detonation still leaves Dean feeling like he’s been punched in the gut as his senses are blasted with intense light and sound. The intensity is too great for just one grenade – Bobby must have rigged the whole place.  

A rough hand grabs his forearm and he flinches, but it’s just Bobby, yanking him toward the swinging back door. 

Ellen and Jo stumble in after him, and together they shove a heavy metal storage locker in front of the door.

“They won’t be down for long and that won’t hold forever. What’s the plan?” asks Ellen, heading straight for the weapons cabinet.

“We can’t let them get Cas,” says Dean.

“Duh,” says Bobby. “We ain’t givin’ him up without a fight.”

“But now that they know he’s here, or at least that we might know where he is, they aren’t going to leave,” points out Jo.

“No,” agrees Dean. “But I could draw them off.”

Ellen frowns at him. “They’re heavily armed. And we can’t be sure there’s only two of them.”

“Plus, Gordon’s probably at the dock, waiting for you to try to escape,” Jo guesses.

Dean grins. “The dock’s not the only place with ships, you know.”

Bobby nods. “No, it’s not. You’ll still have to make it through the base’s entrance. And what’re we gonna do with Castiel?”

As if summoned, Cas comes up from the basement door, immediately followed by Ash and Charlie. Taking in the state of the kitchen and the grim expressions all around, Charlie asks, “What’s going on, guys?”

Cas looks straight at Dean. “We were followed.”

“Or someone on the base saw us arrive. Either way, we’ve got unfriendly company that wants you,” says Dean.

“Then you should escape while you still can and I will remain. I do not wish for you or any of your adopted family to die on my account.”

Jo huffs at him. “Don’t be stupid. We’re not gonna leave you to die – that’s not what we do.”

“Locating and disseminating evidence of Michael’s duplicitous nature is the most important thing you can do. I would be able to provide a distraction,” insists Cas.

Dean rolls his eyes and steps forward. “Cut that out. Nobody’s gonna die today, ok? We just need to get those bounty hunters out of the Roadhouse and off the base, and keep everyone safe while doing it.”

“Well when you put it that way–” starts Bobby sarcastically.

“Give me some credit, Bobby,” says Dean. “We’ll take care of the bounty hunters and you stay here and protect Ash and Charlie. Where are you on the translation program?”

Charlie bites her lip, but puts on a brave face. “Castiel’s gotten us on the right path and we should be able to finish it without him, though it might take us a little longer than it would if he were here.” Ash nods in support.

“Good. We’re heading back to Zion. That’s a four-day trip if we don’t run into anyone. Whatever you have at that point, send to Sam.”

Cas starts to protest but Dean puts a finger in his face. “No, this is what we’re doing. I’m in charge.”

“How’re you gonna get them to follow you?” asks Ellen.

Dean eyes the storage locker-covered door. “By being really fucking obvious about which way we’re going.”

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

His moronic plan actually works.

Dean and Cas run out the swinging door, make sure the still-recovering bounty hunters, two short, dark-haired women, are watching, then take a hard left out the side door. The flash grenades have ruined the bounty hunters' aim and coordination, so Dean and Cas get to the Impala without getting shot and before the bounty hunters can follow them through the maze of ships in the junkyard. For one moment, Dean thinks they’re actually going to make it.

Then he remembers the docking clamps. 

“Shit!” he yells, twisting out of his seat. “Stay here, Cas.”

“Why? Where are you going?”

“The fucking docking clamps are rusted shut. We can’t take off until I get them open.”

Cas shoves past him before Dean can stop him. “You’ll take too long by yourself.”

“Dammit, Cas! Fine, I’ll take one and you take the other,” Dean instructs as they hurtle down the ramp and toward the back of the Impala.

Dean throws a piece of rebar from a nearby scrap pile at Cas and they both work on their individual clamps. They can hear the two bounty hunters calling to each other, getting closer and closer by the minute.

Cas’ clamp is slowly lifting, but Dean’s is going barely anywhere.

“How are you doing that?” hisses Dean, feeling sweat beginning to bead on his forehead.

“Still…have…some of…my strength,” Cas grunts out.

Dean tries kicking the rebar to get it pry open the clamps, but there’s still no give. Cas’ clamp is only halfway up. “This isn’t working, get over here,” Dean whisper-shouts. 

Cas joins him, adds his own piece of rebar, and both of their strength together is finally enough to break the top part of the hinge off. 

Unfortunately, it makes a horrible screeching noise that the bounty hunters definitely heard. 

Sure enough, the higher-pitched of the two voices shouts, “Over here, Meg!”

They rush over to the other clamp and Dean gives up on trying to stay quiet, heaving with all his might, sweat pouring off his brow and down his back.

A laser blast explodes a part of the wall of moon rock over their heads.

“Fuck!” Dean swears, then pleads with the clamp, “Come on, come on, come on!”

It finally gives with its own death shriek, and Dean immediately whips the rebar to the side,grabs Cas’ sleeve, and tugs him toward the Impala’s ramp. 

The next laser blast hits the Impala, a body-length away from where they’re running toward the ramp. 

“Don’t hit my fucking ship!” Dean yells, as both bounty hunters sprint around the hulking freighter wreck that was keeping them and the Impala out of sight. He pulls out his blaster and shoots as he maneuvers Cas to take cover behind the ramp, forcing the bounty hunters to take cover, too. But they have a good sight on the ramp, and every single time Dean and Cas try to hop onto it to get into the ship, they lay down fire, forcing Dean and Cas to hunker behind the ramp.

Adding insult to injury, several blaster shots hit the Impala. 

“Stop shooting my fucking ship!” Dean yells as he frantically tries to get a read on the bounty hunters’ locations.

“Dean,” says Cas insistently at his back. “We need to find another way.”

“I know, I’m tryin’ to think,” shouts Dean, firing at the bounty hunters.

But then he hears the whine of a pulse grenade, and there’s no time to cover his ears, to warn Cas, to do anything but slam his eyes shut.

The sound is deafening and he falls over, stunned. Strong hands grab him, and suddenly he’s being thrown upward with super-human strength. He lands hard and instinctively rolls, banging his arm and dropping his blaster. Dean opens his eyes, spots filling his vision, and fuzzily realizes he’s in the ship. Dizzy, he gets on all fours in time to see the hatch slam shut. 

“Gah,” he grunts, grabbing the bulkhead and pulling himself up. Dean staggers over to the hatch and dread fills him when he sees Cas on the other side.

“What the fuck!” Dean yells through the door. 

Cas looks through the porthole with sad eyes. “I won’t let you be like Balthazar. No one else has to die because of me.”

“No!” Dean screams, but Cas is already in motion – he slams his fist to the right of the door, right where the external keypad is located, and no matter how desperately Dean mashes the buttons of the keypad on his side, the hatch refuses to open.  

“Fuck! Cas, no!” 

“Your family needs you.” He can barely hear Cas’ words. “And I need you to finish my mission. I’ll make sure you can escape.”

And Cas turns around and runs down the ramp, blaster fire erupting around him.

Dean yells and beats on the hatch, but it’s no use. He runs to the cockpit, almost tripping over his feet a couple of times from panic and the residual effects from the pulse grenade.

He frantically searches for Cas through the view screen, but he must be under the Impala or behind it or anywhere. Why the fuck did he do that?!

The bounty hunters step around the freighter wreck, weapons raised but not firing. Dean realizes why when he sees Cas step out in front of the Impala, arms up. Dean frantically hits the audio panel to get the communication’s array to listen in on what’s happening below.

“–surrender myself, provided that you allow everyone else on this base to live,” Cas is saying.

“Cas, you idiot. You self-sacrificing dumbass,” Dean says, frantically ripping off the cover on the audio panel. He hasn’t had to reconfigure Baby’s wiring in ages, and he curses his clumsy fingers. If he can just reroute things to outgoing audio maybe he can distract the bounty hunters long enough for Cas to escape.

“What do you think, Ruby?” asks the bounty hunter on the left, Meg, Dean infers.

Ruby gives Cas a calculating look. “Well, our mission was to capture him.” She looks straight up at the Impala and Dean knows she can see him looking through the view screen. “So, I guess we’re all set.”

Meg purses her lips. “They tried to kill us. And that pulse grenade shit was really annoying. Sure we can’t kill just a few of them? Like how about that handsome fella up there?”

“If you kill Dean, I will not cooperate. In fact, I will ensure both of you experience the most painful death I can manage,” says Cas.

Both bounty hunters laugh patronizingly. Dean grits his teeth and tries to work faster.

“No need to get all alpha male, I can be forgiving,” Ruby says, smiling. “You have my word that no one else will die.”

And then she shoots Cas.

He goes down like a string-less puppet. 

“No!” Dean yells, dropping the wiring and pounding on the view screen in fury. “You fucking bitch! He was surrendering. Unarmed!”

Ruby gives a self-satisfied smile and struts over to where Cas is lying in a heap. 

“Why’d you shoot him?” shrieks Meg.

“Didn’t you read the brief? He’s got special powers or something. That should have stunned him enough for us to get him back to Gordon.”

She crouches down and puts two fingers to his wrist. And then frowns.

“Well, shit. Good thing we still get paid no matter what state he’s in.”

Dean’s fist stops on the viewscreen as his blood runs cold.

“Wait a second, you killed him?” Meg marches over, looking murderous. “What the hell!”

“Ugh, I swear he was supposed to be some kind of super soldier. That setting should have stunned him, not killed him.”

Dean can’t breathe. Cas can’t be…no.

Meg groans. “We’re gonna get paid less now that’s he’s dead, aren’t we.”

Ruby stands up and shrugs. “Yeah, but now that he’s dead, we don’t have to uphold our end of the bargain.” She gestures toward the main part of the base. “Now, it’s open season.”

White-hot rage floods through Dean. He leaps at the fore weapons array panel and just starts pressing buttons, not giving a fuck if the Impala blows up beneath him. These bounty hunters are gonna pay for murdering Cas in cold blood if it’s the last thing Dean does.

The rail guns make a ‘chnnnk’ sound as they extend out from their housings, and Meg and Ruby only have time to look up at the noise before they are greeted by a spray of bullets. Dean huffs in appreciation - thank fuck that Bobby’s vigilance extended to rearming Baby for him.

Both bounty hunters try to run for cover. Meg manages to roll out of the way, but Ruby isn’t quick enough. Dean watches in grim satisfaction as the rail guns shred into her torso and she falls down in bloody pieces. 

One down, one to go.

However, Meg isn’t waiting around. Dean aims the guns for where he saw her run to for cover, but a burst of bullets only succeeds in blasting away a piece of scrap. He frantically scans around the shipyard and finally catches a glimpse of dark hair disappearing around an engine assembly. If she keeps going that way, she’ll come out close to the port entrance. He glances over at the mess of exposed wires on the audio panel. No chance he’ll get that working in time to call Bobby, Ellen, and Jo for backup. 

“Run while you still can,” Dean growls, throwing the switches to start up Baby’s engine. She purrs to life right away, and he settles into the pilot’s seat, his hand on the dial for the thrusters.

He spares one final look at the body below. A little voice in his head is screaming for him to ignore Meg and grab a hypersonic torch from the engine room to cut open the hatch, no matter how long it takes. He should get Cas’ body and not leave it lying there like he’s just another faceless, nameless soldier who fell in battle beside Dean. Because he’s not, he’s not been that in days.

But the voice howling for vengeance is louder. Dean swipes a hand over his face and growls in frustration. Meg can’t escape, she can’t. She has to pay for her part in Cas’ death. 

So he turns the dial and grabs hold of the yoke, easing Baby up and forward. She rumbles as she fights him a little, Dean trying to relearn all her quirks as he flies over the junkyard. He flies lower than he normally would, thrusters kicking loose rubble into the air as he searches.

“Where are you,” he mutters, wishing the Impala’s view screen were oriented more helpfully. If she’s tucked herself behind something he is going to have a hard time seeing her.

Dean’s so focused on his search he doesn’t pick up on the ship approaching from the side until he’s thrown by blasters hitting Baby’s deflector shields. Cursing, he pulls up to get out of the line of fire. Dean doesn’t recognize the ship – it’s smaller than a smuggler’s, smaller even than the pod Cas used to escape from Aux, so he doesn’t think it’s Gordon’s. 

Then it pulls up alongside him and he can see Meg smirking at him through its view screen.

“Fuck!” Dean yells, banking away, trying to maneuver so his weapons can get a good shot at her. 

And then there’s another ship shooting at him and this one does look the right size to be a smuggler’s ship. Meg must have gotten a message to Gordon. And Gordon’s ship is heavily-armed and mean-looking. Dean suddenly finds himself very much on the defensive and being chased through the dock and toward Moondoor’s airlock. Several of Gordon’s wild shots hit docked vessels, forcing Dean to also dodge explosions and flying debris as they are destroyed.

“Hold on, Baby,” he says, trying to keep her out of the line of fire and failing. 

And then one of Gordon’s blaster shots hits the airlock directly. It immediately loses vacuum, sucking everything around it, Dean, Gordon, and Meg, into the maze before the emergency door shuts and seals behind them. 

Dean feels cold dread creeping through his veins. At least in Moondoor there was room to maneuver and he had a chance at evading Meg and Gordon until he could figure out a new plan. Now, he’s trapped in a narrow passageway, cut off completely from everyone inside. 

_ Get moving, Winchester! _ his brain screams.  _ First rule of battle – don’t freeze up. _

He quickly turns the Impala toward the exit and pushes her through the maze’s twists and turns as fast as he dares, scraping Bobby’s new paintjob on the Impala to hell. Gordon and Meg recover swiftly, though, and his lead evaporates within moments. Meg’s right on his tail, probably because she’s more maneuverable in the tight passage. And that’s bad news for Dean because there’s no way he can shake her, but good news because she’s got less firepower than Gordon, so maybe he’ll survive long enough to get out into open space.

But Meg’s weapons fire is persistent. Consoles begin to overload and explode around him as the Impala’s deflector shields are gradually overwhelmed. Dean goes to hit the panel that will deploy charges, hoping Bobby managed to equip the Impala with those too, but Meg releases another volley of blaster fire, and it explodes around his hand and arm. 

The pain is instantly overwhelming. Dean pulls his arm to his torso, eyes beginning to water from the smoke, nose filled with the smell of burnt flesh. He gags, from the smell, from the pain, from fear. Because he needs both hands on the yoke to navigate, and he can’t feel anything in his left hand but pain right now. 

So, this is it. The deflector shields are almost gone, the aft weapons’ console is destroyed, and he can’t steer properly. He’s going to die. 

Dean tries to tell himself that at least he’s going down fighting. That at least his death will be in battle, like he always wanted, and it’ll mean something. 

And, this way he won’t have to deal with the fact that he had to watch Cas die in front of him.

Maybe death wouldn’t be so bad. She’s been courting Dean for a very long time. Maybe it’s time to let her win for a change.

And then a fireball blooms behind the Impala and spits past his view screen for a moment. Dean slows the Impala, bringing her to stop and swings her nose around in time to see a piece of Meg’s ship go flying past and impact on the corridor wall. 

Dean frowns. Did Meg make a mistake? Did she brush the wall to hard and then overcorrect, slamming right into the wall? It’s entirely possible, but a ship that small shouldn’t have had any problem. Unless...

Gordon’s ship comes around the corner, the low lighting in the tunnel making it look even more menacing. 

Dean’s audio console crackles to life and a voice says “Finally, that Dominion bitch is out of the way.”

“Gordon,” Dean grits out. “You just screwed over your own ally?”

“She was taking too long. And she left our bounty behind.”

Dean closes his eyes for a moment and tries to breathe through the searing pain in his hand and arm. “Well, Meg’s dead and that’s all I cared about. And your bounty is back there, not with me.”

Like he’d ever let Gordon anywhere near Cas’ body. Dean opens his eyes and quickly takes in what he’s got for weapons on Baby’s front end. The left rail gun is down, but the right one is still operational. That won’t do a lot of damage to a ship like Gordon’s, though. Baby’s scrappy, but Gordon’s ship is new and undoubtedly has better deflector shields. 

Dean considers the torpedo switches. Not a smart idea in such an enclosed space – he would definitely take out Gordon, but he’d destroy the tunnel, too. Everyone on the base would be trapped inside for who knows how long.

“Yeah, but you and everybody on that station knows who I associate with now. So first I’m gonna kill you and then I’m goin’ back and killing everyone. And  _ then _ I’m grabbing that freak’s body and gettin’ my money.”

Well, that certainly decides things. Dean doesn’t even hesitate to throw the torpedo switches. The familiar ‘clank’ as they settle into their launch tubes gives him one last moment of satisfaction before he’s pressing the reverse thrusters with his left elbow and steering Baby backwards. A second later, the torpedoes deploy, adding to the Impala’s backwards momentum.

“What’re you–” are Gordon’s last words. The torpedoes slam into his ship and there’s another, much bigger fireball. Dean swings Baby around again and guns it, going even faster than when Meg was on his tail, banging off the tunnel walls and rattling around in his seat. The glow of the explosion is following him, the kinetic energy it brings licking at the back of the Impala, just barely on the edge of being overwhelming, of overtaking him, of enveloping him.

A piece of bulkhead falls from above after a particularly bad jolt and hits Dean on the head, giving him double vision for a moment. But he keeps going, blinking through the blood streaming down onto his face, his left hand in agony as it grips the yoke to keep him from smashing himself against the walls. There will be time for pain later. There will be time for regret at trapping Bobby, Ellen, Jo, Charlie, and Ash in the base. Everything that isn’t flying as fast as he’s able can wait.

And then he’s pulling the yoke down, the last bit of the maze behind him, open space rushing forward to wrap him in her cold, black embrace. Dean waits until he’s a couple hundred ship-lengths from the entrance to Moondoor and swings the Impala around. 

It’s completely blocked. 

Dean looks around the Impala’s smoking consoles, over at the wrecked audio panel, then his left hand. He can’t get them help in this state, he can barely help himself in this state. Everything in him is screaming for him to stay, to find a way back into the base, but his self-preservation instinct kicks in. He needs to regroup and get help.

Thankfully, the autopilot is still intact. He sets a course for Zion.

\--

The next few days crawl by in a haze of pain.

Dean passes out constantly, the head wound doing him no favors. There’s a few medical supplies on board, but nothing that truly takes the edge off. Nothing that will keep him from seeing Cas’ face in his dreams, watching him die over and over, his body absorbing the blasts and hitting the ground. 

The one grounding constant is the little charm Cas gave him. Dean holds it tightly in his right hand.

Baby’s running on fumes by the time he breaks through Zion’s atmosphere. Dean finds a destroyed area just outside of Arcadia that he knows has been abandoned since the Final Bombardment, and hides the Impala in it.

As her thrusters shut down, Dean pats the console gratefully. “You kept me safe one more time, Baby. Thank you.”

It takes hours before he shores up enough energy to get the hypersonic torch and several more before he finally cuts open the hatch. Every movement is slow and painful.

He doesn’t remember the walk to Sam’s building. Doesn’t know how his legs don’t completely fail him before he falls through the door after Sam opens it, his brother’s face in shock.

“Hey, Sammy,” he says, momentarily relieved to see Sam’s not dead or captured or being tortured, and then collapses.

 

END OF PART 1

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So so sorry to leave you with a cliffhanger. I had an outline that I thought would get me to 30k, but then I kept finding I needed *just one more scene* and suddenly I was almost to 30k and only halfway through my outline.  
> I also severely underestimated how much work goes into a bang (I have a whole new understanding/respect for writers). Optimistically, I'll have the next half up before January.


End file.
